


love has claws which maim

by whatshouldntbe



Series: and the wounds never close [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018), Venom (Movie 2018), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Climate Crisis, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, DUM-E is a problem child, Domestic Discipline, Falling In Love, First Time for Everything Fest, Getting to Know Each Other, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Identity Porn, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Infinity Gems, Jealousy, Knotting, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mild References to Sexual Repression, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Mutant Rights, Mutual Pining, Omega Tony Stark, POV Alternating, Political Unrest, Possessive Behavior, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Secret Identity, Sex Positive, Steve Rogers Lies, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Venom Redemption Arc, Very Light Switching, Villians Everywhere, my kink is good communication, no beta we die like men, this is all freeform if that’s not obvious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-02-27 07:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 408,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18734575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatshouldntbe/pseuds/whatshouldntbe
Summary: Tony slams his hands angrily on the surface of Howard’s workstation, making everything tremble until his father glares furiously at him. He ignores it and begs, “Please don’t make me marry my godfather.”OrYet another Marriage of Convenience AU with a/b/o dynamics that no one asked for.





	1. YEAR 1: PART I - VOLUME I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yenny2206](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenny2206/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Celestial Navigation and other Thank You Fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964175) by [sabrecmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabrecmc/pseuds/sabrecmc). 
  * Inspired by [Barnes Family Motors, Inc.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17793284) by [phlintandsteel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlintandsteel/pseuds/phlintandsteel). 



> Hello, it's me the writer (black, queer female, aged somewhere around 23 - 37) and here are a few things you should consider before continuing:
> 
> 1\. This has been eating at me ever since I read Celestial Navigation and Barnes Family Motors, Inc.  
> 2\. This is my first Stony A/B/O fic, so I'm sure this has so many plot holes or issues, but maybe, like, overlook those, please?  
> 3\. This is gonna be loosely based off of the Captain America MCU trilogy but like a more modern take, if that makes sense  
> 4\. You will find a land mine of grammatical errors (a few inconsistencies) but substantial diversity with incredible world-building (and character development) to make up for it  
> 5\. I'll try and keep updates consist but please like and subscribe.  
> 6\. Have fun with it, and enjoy because it's free babe :) so be nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony: ALL alphas are -  
> Steve: *exists*  
> Tony:  
> Tony:  
> Tony: Okay, SOME alphas are -

**YEAR 1  
VOLUME I**

 

**_a·gen·cy_ ** **_  
_ ** **/ˈājənsē/ noun noun: agency; plural noun: agencies**

  * the capacity of individuals to act independently and to make their own free choices. _  
_ Example: _An Omega is allowed their Agency from birth to 18 years of age, then, at which point, their Agency will be removed until they should legally marry and do their Civic Duty by increasing the American Population to its former glory, as mandated by the Conception and Espousal Act._



 

Tony is minding his own business when something life-changing happens on the 28th of May.

Okay, that’s kind of downplaying things a bit.

Context: Tony is standing in the alley of a movie theater in Brooklyn, waiting for someone to come out the exit so he can sneak in, because legally, he’s not allowed to be out this late without a chaperone, nor can he purchase a ticket on his own without the proper identification that either shows he’s bonded or any other secondary gender that isn’t Omega.

So yeah, sneaking in was his best bet.

He’d been waiting for a while when these two guys come bursting out.

The taller of the two is obviously some knothead Alpha, based on what Tony can tell about his height and his stature, as well as the cocky way he holds himself.

Tony wants to roll his eyes at the blatant display of macho-assertiveness, but he’s too busy watching the smaller guy glare the bigger man down. He thinks the smaller guy is an Omega, who is being cornered by some Alpha who doesn’t know the meaning of no.

They exchange a few words, speaking in low but hostile tones, which means Tony can’t really make out what’s being said. But naturally Tony inserts himself in the situation just as the bigger guy takes a vicious swing at the defiant Omega.

The Omega goes flying back into the trash cans and that’s about as much as Tony can take.

“Hey, dipshit, why don’t you get lost?” Tony shoves him out of the way when it looks like the Alpha is about to climb into the garbage heap after the Omega and do some real damage.

The Alpha snarls but then blinks, taken aback when he realizes who would dare interrupt him. “Omega. Soft little O,” he sighs and his pupils dilate. “What’s a hot thing like you doing in a place like this?”

Tony rolls his eyes. He’s not blind, he knows what he looks like. “Why don’t you get lost?” he repeats, voice firm but puts on a smile that’s full of false charm. “Or I’ll call the cops and tell them you attacked a bonded Omega. You look about six foot two, dark hair, weighing about two hundred and some change. Let’s see, red shirt, black jeans. Yeah, you’ll be easy to describe.”

The Alpha pales, not calling his bluff, and is gone in the next second. If there was one thing Alphas feared more than anything, it is being accused of touching what ‘belongs’ to someone else. The penalty for that was losing your Agency as an Alpha indefinitely. And Alphas loved their Agency more than anything on this planet. It's help lowered the statistics somewhat for sexual assault.

Tony turns just as the Omega is struggling to his feet, tossing away a garbage can top he looks like he'd been prepared to use as a shield. “You okay, kid?” he asks, because the guy doesn’t look a day over 19. “You know there are much easier ways to piss off an Alpha without getting a black eye. Trust me, I am definitely an authority on that.”

The Omega huffs and dusts himself off. “Guy was being disrespectful. Throwing popcorn and making a commotion. I asked him to stop. He asked me if we could take it outside. I didn’t disagree,” he explains simply.

Tony gets a good look at him. He seems to be unusually scrawny, not like a skeleton, no, but more like a good stiff wind would be enough to knock him over. His clothes kind of hang on him in the same way they might a mannequin or a plastic hanger. His blond hair, which he was trying to smooth down into something more socially acceptable, seemed golden when compared to his fair, lily white skin. His hands seemed pretty large on such a small frame. Tony can’t say he’s ever seen an Omega with such long fingers. He had nice eyes though. Blue eyes that seemed like he could see right through you. He was handsome, if not a little unconventional. He smells like cinnamon spices and rich mahogany, and ... like an Alpha, which Tony assumes means he’s bonded.

“Not a kid, by the way,” the guy adds, interrupting Tony's thoughts. He lifts an eyebrow when he notices how Tony's been looking him up and down, but Tony simply grins innocently. “And I appreciate the help, but I didn’t need it. I had him on the ropes.”

Tony laughs and then laughs hard when the little guy flushes with irritation. “Sorry to break up the fun, but I guess I get pissed when I see someone pushing their weight around like that. I don’t like bullies.”

Something in the guy’s face softens and he winces into a half-grin that Tony is having a hard time not finding adorably attractive. “Yeah, me neither,” he agrees quietly, no longer looking like an angry bird with ruffled feathers. “Thanks.”

Tony waves it off. “Us Omegas have to stick together,” he says and doesn’t miss the way the guy blanches but looks resigned like he’s had this conversation before. “You got an Alpha you can call?”

“I am an Alpha.”

Tony nearly double takes. “I’m sorry ... what?”

“I am an Alpha,” he repeats evenly, calmly, and yeah, this is definitely a conversation he’s had before if the look on his face and tone of his voice is any indication.

“Okay,” Tony says after an awkwardly long pause. “Obviously I need to take a moment to re-examine my own personal biases.”

The guy huffs but he looks a little less moody, which, bonus. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he replies wryly.

And oh, yeah, Tony likes him. “Tony Stark,” he introduces, holding out his hand, liking when Steve doesn't even blink at his last name. “Well, just Tony now, I guess. The old man sorta disowned me like a few hours ago, but you don’t need to worry about that. Uh. Anyway, Tony is fine.”

“Steve Rogers,” he replies, and diplomatically overlooks everything else Tony said as he grabs the hand offered to shake. 

Tony enjoys the firmly confident yet gentle handshake he's given, thinking about how funny it is that they are both eyeing each other with equal curiosity before letting go.

“So, are you hungry? I’m hungry,” Tony announces and pushes forward to exit the alley, certain that Steve will follow. “I know this cool diner that has the best cheeseburgers according to Yelp. But I guess I won’t be able to tell either way. Never had a cheeseburger. I had what you would call a 'strict diet' most of my life. Anyway, do you like cheeseburgers? Your hopefully open-minded response is really going to determine whether I like you or not.”

Steve shrugs absentmindedly but he’s prodding at his bruised eye, which is swelling to an alarming degree. “Don't really have much of an appetite at the moment,” he simply admits.

“Well, I think you should get one,” Tony decides and marches on without waiting for a response. “Did I mention that it’s my birthday? Well it will be my birthday. It’s technically the eve of my birthday. Anyway, I know this place. They give you these cheeseburgers for free if you can guess how many whatevers they have in a jar.”

Steve does his best to keep up the pace but he sounds winded when they finally stand outside a well lit, vinyl diner with candy red booths and ivory white floors. “You from around here? You sure know your way, not that I’m complaining. Think I would’ve remembered you, though.”

“Flattered you think so,” Tony replies and bats his eyelashes obnoxiously, the way Alphas usually like because it’s his job to make them comfortable. “But no, I’m not from around here. Brooklyn is maybe one of the few boroughs where Omegas aren’t constantly asked for identification. I used to have my chauffeur drive me around, you know. Just so I could take in the sights ... but anyway, it’s my birthday and I thought I might do something crazy.”

“Like idle outside of the theater to sneak in through one of the exits before insinuating yourself in a fight between two Alphas, and take one of said strange Alphas to a diner that gives free cheeseburgers if you guess how many whatevers they have in a jar,” Steve mutters, prodding at his wounded eye.

Tony laughs quite suddenly at that. “You sure are something, huh? I thought only Omegas had the good sense to use sarcasm. Alphas usually think it’s the lazy people’s speech.”

“Well if my appearance hasn’t tipped you off, I’m not like other people,” Steve says, and Tony is intrigued by the way he says ‘people’ instead of ‘Alphas’. “Besides, sarcasm is like water. It’s supposed to be free and for everyone.”

Tony smiles and then chuckles before he pulls open the door and gestured for Steve to enter in first. Instead of glaring or getting all indignant about it, Steve just thanks him and walks through. Tony has never been treated with so much respect in his entire life. It’s wild.

There’s a Beta waitress with a mane of fluffy black hair, looking like something out of the ’80s, who takes them to an empty booth all the way to the back of the restaurant.

Tony takes a moment to explain he wants to try for today’s ‘how many’ challenge as the waitress absentmindedly nods, too busy looking at Steve and his swelling eye.

“Oh you poor, sweet thing,” she coos, ignoring Tony. “Do you mind telling me what happened?”

“Yeah, I tried to mug him but like a true man of peace, he talked me out of it,” Tony announces.

Steve shoots him an amused look before he turns his gaze on the waitress. “Thanks for your concern, but my friend here was making a request. Do you mind?” and he stares her down.

The waitress (her nametag says 'Lou Anne') flushes and quickly apologizes before looking to Tony again.

Tony repeats himself and the waitress leaves to grab the jar. He says, “Thanks. You didn’t have to scold her like that. I’m used to it. I’m lucky to get any attention afforded to me.”

“Sounds like you’re quoting an idiot,” Steve reasons evenly. “Everyone deserves respect. Don’t get what’s so hard to understand about that. Gender is just ... it’s all secondary. That’s literally what it is. You’re welcome, though it’s not ... you don’t have to thank me for it. It kinda pisses me off that you think you do.”

“God, you are just full of surprises,” Tony muses with a half-grin and when the waitress comes back with the jar, he barely glances at it before says, “Four hundred and sixty-seven. Ah. No. Eight. Four hundred and sixty- _eight_ jellybeans _._ ”

“Holy cow.” The Beta stares at him baffled. “You’re absolutely right, sugar. Guess that’ll be two cheeseburgers with the works.”

Tony nods before the waitress leaves to put in the order. He rubs at his smooth chin, and Steve gives him an unreadable look. “What?”

“Just thinking you’re full of surprises too.”

“Oh? Never met an Omega who could count before, huh?”

Steve gives him a flat look. “You know that’s not what I think.”

“Maybe. But isn’t that how all Alphas think?” Tony challenges, not to be mean, but just to push boundaries. He has a thing for testing limitations. He wants to measure how far Steve's resolve can go. “When an Alpha gives their opinion, the whole room listens. When an Omega gives their opinion, they just want attention. We’re natural attention seekers. It’s our nature.”

Steve's face twists up in such a way that he winces when it wrinkles his injured eye. “That’s ... awful. I'm sorry, but that's awful, and if you can excuse my language, bullshit. I know plenty of people who like the spotlight, and can’t say any of them are Omegas. But nothing is wrong with wanting attention either, if that’s your thing.”

“Well, I was certainly taught it’s _supposed_ to be my thing, but,” Tony shrugs and silently marvels at how forward-thinking Steve is for an Alpha. “Are all diners like this?”

Steve frowns questioningly when he says, “In what way? Open late? Rude staff? Family style?”

“So there are different types?” Tony latches onto that line of thought. “Is it true some of them are decade themed?”

“Yeah, I mean, some can be but ... Tony, is this your first time being in a diner?”

“Caught that, huh?” Tony gives a grin that’s not genuine in the least, and probably seems more like he’s baring his teeth. “I guess you can say I’ve had a sheltered life. I mean I mostly went to boarding school, and then a little bit of some higher education, online courses mostly. After I turned 18 and lost my Agency, my parents kind of kept me close. Grooming, they say. When they keep you under lock and key to be sure you don’t do anything to diminish your value as an Omega or embarrass the family. Oh, don’t look like that, it’s just the way things are. Anyway, I wasn’t cooped up all the time. My parents let me attend some galas and fundraisers. And, oh, if I behaved well enough, they let our chauffeur drive me anywhere I wanted for an hour. As long as I never left the car.”

“You come to Brooklyn,” Steve murmurs, looking a little sad.

Tony can’t stand pity. Pity doesn’t change anything, and it certainly doesn't fixes situations for the better. “Yeah. I come to Brooklyn. It’s ugly, but it has its charms.”

“Hey, watch it,” Steve protests dryly. “You’ll offend me. I was born and raised here.”

“Lucky you,” Tony quips and any reply Steve might have given is interrupted by the arrival of their food.

They eat their food in companionable silence while there is a sudden downpour of rain.

Tony gets distracted by the beauty of watching it fall so close to the ground, rather than high up in Stark Tower like he normally would. He smiles to himself as he continues to absentmindedly eat some greasy fries, looking at the rain smacking against the windows and pretends not to notice the way Steve watches him do so with this soft sort of expression that kind of makes his face go hot.

Tony declines dessert, too full on half a burger that was almost as big as his head and thanks to the waitress when she gives him a container to take the rest of his food to go. Tony doesn’t plan on eating any leftovers. It’s not a thing he’s used to doing, but he still goes through the motions of wrapping it up before he realizes that Steve has completely cleared his plate.

“Wow. Where do you put it all?” he asks as he slaps a hundred dollar bill that he stole from his mother’s purse this morning on the table. She'd hardly even notice, it's literally pocket change.

Steve shrugs self-deprecatingly, smiling quickly for some reason at the tip that Tony is leaving, making him wonder if he did it wrong or something. “No matter how much I eat, I can’t seem to gain weight. It’s ... been a thing since childhood.”

Tony considers that before he pushes over his leftovers to Steve’s side of the table. “Listen, you should take this because I will just throw it in the trash. Leftovers really aren’t my thing. You look like a guy who doesn’t take wasting food lightly.”

Steve takes it without complaint.

Tony likes that he’s not too proud.

“Thanks for turning my night around,” Steve says as they step out onto the wet pavement.

It’s stopped raining but the sky is still rumbling a warning.

“I think I’m enjoying myself more than you. I mean, I got to eat a cheeseburger. A _cheeseburger,_ Steve. And fries. I don’t think I like fries but the burger definitely deserves a repeat performance someday.”

“Ah, well that’s good, Tony. I’m glad you liked it.” Steve pauses, and looks like he’s internally debating something before he asks, “Listen, are you sure you don’t want this?”

Tony shakes his head when Steve tries to hand him the leftovers. “Prefer freshly made food. Don’t own a microwave anyway, so it’s no good to me. Honest. Keep it.”

Steve stops pressing.

“You got a place?”

Steve looks at him, startled and yeah, maybe his delivery could have been better.

“Relax, I’m not ... I just figured we should get some ice on your eye,” Tony quickly explains as Steve goes a little pink. “Don’t worry, your virtue is safe from a scary Omega like me.”

Steve shoots him an annoyed but amused look as his face starts to cool down. “Think you need to re-examine your biases again.”

Tony finds that extremely intriguing but he doesn’t comment. “Promise I’m harmless. I won’t like, steal from you or anything. Or murder you. Or ... actually, is me saying any of that endearing me to you? Feels like it’s not.”

Steve chuckles quietly but shakes his head. “I, uh, don't live too far from here. Not that, uh ... I don’t mean that I expect anything. It’s sweet you’re worried about my eye, but I’ve had worse. It’s just ... it's only that you seem not to be in a hurry to get home. And well, again, I don’t live too far from here. I have maybe some cocoa. Or maybe I might have something else. It’s not much of a selection but, if it’s all the same, you’re free to walk me home.”

Tony can’t even believe the Alpha would say such a thing: ‘walk me home’. It’s kind of unheard of in their modern society. It’s usually the other way around, but clearly, Steve doesn’t care about gender roles the same way others do in Tony’s experience. He is endlessly fascinated, which is why he follows Steve all the way to his 6-story brick complex before he can talk himself out of it or list all the ways this could go wrong.

He doesn’t say anything when they enter the small studio, which has its own charm, and seems very lived in. It’s mostly filled with artsy knick-knacks, supplies, and half-finished canvases, thoroughly broken-in sketching pads spilling over almost every surface. The bed, which sits dead center in the biggest area of the studio, is neatly made. Actually, Steve appears to be someone who is very organized, outside of all the art supplies that seem to be planted everywhere.

Tony always thought that Alphas didn’t bother with that sort of thing. Not the being organized and clean part, because, well, yeah that too, but the art thing. That’s usually something viewed as an Omega fancy. All the greatest painters and artists in history were Omega after all.

“So you’re an artist? That’s cool,” Tony comments as he wanders around, exploring the Alpha’s territory as if it were his own.

Steve watches him do it without much complaint, retrieving an ice pack from his freezer to press to his eye. “Went to school for a little while,” he vaguely acknowledges. “Then, you know, the war with Hydra started overseas. Now I spend all my energy trying to enlist. Buddy of mine was drafted. Doesn’t seem right to just stay behind and do nothing.”

“And you can’t enlist without being bonded first,” Tony reasons because that’s the way it was. The American Government was serious about everyone doing their Civic Duty (read: keeping the population afloat). He knows a bit about the military aspect only because of how many contracts for weapons his father has with them. “It’s a year, right? You have to be bonded a year before you’re even considered?”

Steve nods quietly, watching him pick up different drawings before putting them back down.

Tony wonders why the Alpha is letting him. It's pretty rude, to be honest, putting his scent everywhere like this. But for whatever reason, he can’t seem to help himself. Then, he gets a sudden thought. “Hey, Steve, maybe we can help each other. I mean, I’m an unbonded Omega that wants his Agency back, and you obviously want the chance to fight for home and country. Sure, we’re complete strangers, but this way it’s still kind of our choice, you know? Better than being shackled to a stranger Uncle Sam will try and hitch us to. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Tony blinks at him. “Okay, well, you are wearing it really well. I’m twenty-five. Well, I will be, once midnight strikes. Looks like we’re both in the age limit for being single. And it’s only for a year, right? You’ll be overseas before you know it, and I can, I don’t know, open up my own business. Do something with toys, maybe. Better than weapons, anyhow. Though I should warn you, now that I’m disowned, I won’t have much of a dowry to offer.”

“I don’t really care about all that,” Steve assures absentmindedly, too busy looking at Tony like he’s grown another head. “You realize this is crazy? We’ve only just met.”

Tony shrugs, not denying that. “Maybe, yeah, it is crazy. But it’s also practical.” Then he adds, “If you want me to be transparent, I can be. Steve, I haven’t been inside a movie theater, like ever. And I was only in that alley to try and sneak in. You know how it is for Omegas these days. We’re not allowed to do anything but go to the doctor’s office, the library, the grocery store or the laundromat, and even I haven’t done all that much. Like I said, I’ve lived a really sheltered life. I just thought that if it was going to be my last night of freedom before I’m sentenced to a life of unhappiness, I should at least get to see the new _Pokémon_ movie. Maybe that’s dumb, but ... well there it is.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a long time, he just stares at Tony evenly like he’s weighing his options. Then he says, “I don’t think it’s dumb. The movie was ... it was good. Or what little I did see before that loud jerk decided to open his lousy mouth and make a few kids cry.”

“Oh god, Steve. You are too precious. Who says things like that?” Tony laughs and is relieved when Steve just rolls his uninjured eye and grumbles something halfheartedly rather than take offense. “So ... what do you think? We can do this, right?”

“It’s crazy,” Steve repeats, but he also seems to be warming to the idea. “Listen, I don’t want any problems. If you got someone waiting for you - someone who’s going to be upset when we - then you need to reconsider what you’re offering. Because what you’re offering is a really big deal. I don’t want to step on any toes. Thinking one black eye is enough for now this month.”

“As if,” Tony scoffs and wanders over to sit on one of the edges of the island counter, facing Steve, who is leaning against his fridge across from him looking so very small. “There’s no one that matters, trust me. I know I have a face that makes all the guys and gals hot under the collar, but after one conversation with me, they change their mind.”

“Seems okay to me,” Steve mutters and goes pink when Tony lifts an eyebrow at the comment. “Conversational wise,” he clarifies. “Not, uh, your face. It’s not ... just okay. I’m saying - I - what I mean is it’s ... a good one.”

Tony smiles widely. “Oh I will never be bored with you. Please say yes,” he begs, pressing his hands together while he childishly pouts. “Wait, unless _you_ have someone waiting for you? Mister ‘don’t worry about my virtue’.”

Steve clams up immediately and Tony is all too curious. But Steve is speaking again before he can ask, “No. There isn’t anyone. Not anymore.”

Tony is interested in what that could possibly mean, but he’s smart enough not to press. “So ... yes?”

Steve clears his throat and shifts the ice pack carefully against his swollen eye. “If you want kids, I won’t be able to, uh, give you ... that.”

Tony frowns and tries to comb through the sentence before he realizes what Steve means. “Oh. _Oh._  No, don’t worry about that. I mean, that’s ... fine if you can’t, uh, do _that._  Plenty of Alphas have a hard time getting it up and keeping it up, I’ve read. You know there’s this article where substituting a knot for a toy works just as well during heat when -”

“ _Tony!_ ” Steve exclaims, going pink all over and Tony kind of wants to kiss him for it, which, whoa, that’s … yeah he’s gonna have to push that back and freak out over that later. “I appreciate you saying that, but that’s not what I meant. I can get it up just fine. I mean I don’t want to have kids naturally. I grew up with a lot of ... conditions and I wouldn’t want to put our kids through that. We can adopt or look into a sperm donor, maybe, down the line if that’s something you wanted to do. But having them naturally - me being the father - well, that’s not really on the table. If you’re okay with that, then yeah, let’s do it.”

Tony takes a moment to marvel at the fact that he’s not going to be forced to remove his IUD once he becomes married. It’s a monumental relief actually. He doesn’t trust himself to not screw up any kid he has either, but it’s good that they are tabling the adoption idea. He thinks he might want to revisit it somewhere in the distant, _distant_ future.

“I’m not sure what face I’m making, but you’ve said the magic words,” Tony finally says, breaking the prolonged silence.

Steve’s shoulders relax at that and then he reaches up and offers his pinky.

Tony stares at it.

“Grab it with yours and we can swear on it,” Steve explains like Tony is the one being weird about it.

“Wow, you are really like this, huh? Okay, yeah. Why not?” Tony laughs, just on the edge of hysterical and grabs Steve’s pinky with his own. “Now what?”

“I know this is going to be a marriage of convenience, and I know this may be too much to ask, but, I’d prefer to not ... share you.” Then, he quickly adds, “Or maybe we can at least talk about anything you might want to, you know, do with someone else and make an arrangement we can both be comfortable with.”

“Basically, you don’t want me to cheat on you,” Tony states plainly and Steve does that thing where he looks all shifty and guilty for even having to ask. “Steve, that’s totally reasonable. You can relax. I would ask the same courtesy but you’re an Alpha and I know I’m not allowed to expect -”

“I would never!” Steve exclaims, looking scandalized. He takes a moment to calm down a little bit. “Tony, I swear I’m not some knothead that’s going to go around and - and - put the moves on someone.”

Tony doesn’t think another Alpha has ever made him laugh this much, or made him feel quite so protective over them. “Calm down, Rogers. I got it. I was just saying. But, yeah, okay. I think it’s fair that if we ever get feelings for someone, or want to _put the moves_ on them, we should discuss it beforehand. You know, weigh the options. After all, divorce will become available to us after six years.” Then he goes on to say, “Okay, fidelity. Check. No kids biologically. Check. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and ask that you don’t try and control me. That once I get my Agency back, it’s really _mine._ ”

Steve nods solemnly and his pinky twitches a bit against Tony in a way that he thinks is supposed to be reassuring. “I don’t like bullies,” he merely says. “No matter the circumstance.”

“Good.” Tony clears his throat and fidgets a bit, a little giddy and excited at how well things are going. “So, mutual respect. Check. Anything else?”

“Transparency,” Steve replies immediately. “If there’s anything wrong, or anything that I’ve done, you have to let me know. Even if you think I won’t like it, and I’ll do the same for you. We’ll be ... partners. Communication and trust is the only way this is really going to work.”

“I agree.”

“If we want ... if things change, and we …” Steve fumbles with the words before he takes a moment to gather himself. “We have six years before we could get a divorce. But we don’t ... if this works, that doesn’t have to be, you know, an option.”

Tony shrugs because he hasn’t met anyone besides Jarvis that could stand him for more than an hour, let alone 6 years and beyond that. But he nods to acknowledge that particular point. Then he says, “I’m terrible at cooking and cleaning. I’m like, the opposite of what you would expect from an Omega. Sometimes I don’t sleep for days on end, and I get really moody when I’m bored, and I drink water by the gallons whenever I’m getting close to my Heat Cycles. I also refuse to eat anything remotely the color of green, and I would give my left lung for a good cup of coffee.”

Steve takes a moment to let all of that sink in before he replies, “I don’t mind the cooking so much, though I’m not the best. And I’m sure I can teach you some good habits when it comes to cleaning that we’ll both appreciate later on. I get sick as easily as I bruise, so we might have some days where I’m completely fine, but then have some weeks where I’m in the hospital, but I wouldn’t want you to worry. I’m tougher than I look. It just takes me longer than others to get back on my feet. I receive disability because of it, so that’s a good portion of my income, but I also have a part-time job at the local rec center where I teach different kinds of art to amateurs or up-and-comers.”

“Huh.” Tony considers that. “How would you feel about me getting a job?”

“I think it would help,” Steve encourages, which, again, is not a normal thing an Alpha would say in response. “Any extra income we could get would be beneficial. If you want to work, I’m definitely not going to stop you. You mentioned something about toys?”

“Yeah, I want to open my own toy shop one day. But I can’t get a loan for it unless I can prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that I’ve been married for a year. You know how it goes with that kind of thing.”

Steve nods wordlessly and Tony wonders if he’s thinking about his own situation with the Army. Tony thinks he might want to ask more about that later, but for now, he lets the topic be.

“Seems like maybe we covered the basics here. We can go to Town Hall tomorrow,” Tony decides and wiggles his pinky finger against Steve’s to get his attention when it looks like the smaller man is lost in his thoughts. “We can get hitched on my birthday. It’ll make it easier to, I don’t know, remember the anniversary or something.”

Steve blinks before his face relaxes into an amused half-grin. “This is crazy.”

“Uh, yeah. We’ve already concluded that. So, yes? To getting married tomorrow?”

Steve seems to steel himself before he says, “Yes.”

“Great.” Tony gently squeezes their pinkies together one last time before releasing. He hops down from the counter and steps back so he’s not hovering over Steve like some kind of giant, though he is secretly pleased that there is someone out there shorter than he is. But Steve isn’t that short. The top of his head reaches the bridge of Tony’s nose. “So, I’ll get out of your hair. Meet you there at around noon? If you change your mind, you could just not show up, you know.”

“Same to you,” Steve merely says. He looks around for a moment before glancing back at Tony. “You, ah, need somewhere to say? You mentioned being disowned.”

Tony is touched but he shrugs it off. He has a pocket knife that Jarvis gave him. It’s not enough to kill someone, but it’s enough to make sure he can at least buy some time to run away. “Don’t worry about it. There’s an Omega Shelter around here somewhere, I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve grabs his wrist when Tony tries to brush past and out the door. “Tony. You shouldn’t -”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Tony gently pries the surprisingly long and strong fingers from his wrist. The touch gives him goosebumps. “I’m not your Omega yet, Rogers. Save all that protective whatever for when we make things official. I said I’ll be fine. Trust, right? The only way this is going to work?”

Steve looks like he’s swallowing down several retorts while he fixes his face into something less mutinous.

Tony finds the urge to kiss him even more pressing, and yeah, that’s definitely a sign he needs to make himself scarce because the last thing he needs to do is screw up a potentially good thing because he can’t keep it in his pants.

“I trust you,” Steve finally manages to say but he doesn’t look any less concerned. It’s kind of sweet, really. “Tomorrow. Noon.”

“Tomorrow. Noon.”

Tony lets himself out and spends the next couple of hours just riding public transportation until the sun rises because there’s no way he would be caught dead at an Omega Shelter. Those places were the stuff of nightmares. He’d rather go jogging naked in Central Park at night during his Heat.

He winds up outside of Stark Tower, debating with himself before he enters and rides up to their personal floors with the help of Jarvis, who informs him that his parents have gone away on business.

Tony doesn’t have a soft spot for his parents but he has one for Jarvis, which is why when the older Omega invites him to sit down for some hot cocoa and his favorite flavor of waffles, he doesn’t protest. He explains his situation with Steve and what he plans to do.

Jarvis looks so very heartbroken and upset. “You’re absolutely certain of this, Master Anthony?” he presses gently. “I’m sure, if you give your father time to calm down, he will -”

“Still try and make me marry Uncle Obie so he can keep the company ‘in the family’,” Tony interjects, shuddering at the thought. “I’m not going to play by my parents' rules anymore. If he wants to disown me because I won’t spread my legs for my goddamn godfather, then so be it. I don’t need him, or his money, or the company or any of this. They don’t care about me.”

“I care about you,” Jarvis insists. “It troubles me to see you forced into marrying a complete stranger.”

“Steve has his charms,” Tony promises. “Actually, I think you would like him. He’s so ... different. It’s amazing really.”

Jarvis watches his face for a moment before he simply says, “I see.”

Tony isn’t sure what he sees but Jarvis stops pushing the subject.

“I won’t ask you to find love in this arrangement, but, I would hope you know that if you ever need help, no matter what, I am here for you. If this ... Mr. Rogers is a terrible brute, I will steal you away and we can fly to South America and live the rest of our lives in Brazil selling shoes.”

Tony smiles sadly. “Two unbonded Omegas out there in the world. What a scandal.”

“Yes, quite. But one I’m willing to risk for _you_. My contract with your father be damned.”

Tony knows and understands how serious Jarvis is about what he's saying. “I don’t think it will come to that,” he says gently. “Things will be fine. This is something that I chose and wasn’t forced. Well, it kind of was but isn’t at the same time. I’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine.”

“The devil we know is often a comfort over the devil we don’t,” Jarvis supposes with that age-old wisdom of his.

Tony shrugs when all he wants to do is hug the older man and never let go, but his upbringing (and years of firm grooming) doesn’t allow him to.

“If you are really going to go through with this, I want you to promise me that you will love yourself first, Tony,” Jarvis says in that grave tone of his. His hair silver-white, but neatly parted. His face deeply aged with prominent lines and wrinkles. “Love yourself more than anyone else could ever dare to. Wear it like an impenetrable shield. Like a suit of iron.”

Tony jokingly replies, “I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone as much as I love you. Let alone myself. What a crazy thought.”

It makes Jarvis smile but his eyes are sad. “Oh, Tony,” he whispers. “I’m an old man with a few limbs already through death’s door. Surely you mustn't love me at all. What will you do when I’m gone?”

“Nonsense,” Tony quips, gripping the sides of his hot chocolate so that his hands will stop shaking at the mere thought. “You’re gonna live forever, buddy.”

.

.

.

Tony has a pension for being late when it really matters. But he doesn’t take a chance this time around, not when the stakes are so high.

Jarvis and him shove as many clothes as he can get away with stealing into a few duffle bags after he takes the time to shower and change into something more fitting for the day's events. He is wearing a suit and tie when Jarvis takes him to Steve’s apartment first to drop the bags outside his door. Then he climbs back into the car so Jarvis can drop him off at Town Hall, and he marches up the steps with a purpose, ignoring all the curious and interested stares tossed his way.

Steve blinks his uninjured eye (at least it looks like most of the swelling has gone down) and looks a little thunderstruck as he scrambles to stand to his feet from the bench he’d been sitting on outside of the judge’s office.

Of all the reactions Tony has ever got based solely on his looks alone, he thinks maybe Steve’s is the best. It’s a look full of relief but appreciation, and there is an unquestionable awe in his gaze as he takes in the sight of Tony from head to toe. Tony has never had a friend, like a true friend before, but when he looks at Steve, looking at him like that while they go through the whole marriage proceedings, he thinks, yeah, he wants to be Steve’s friend.

Tony isn’t very good at people. In fact, he’s spent the past 25 years of his life being better at science and mechanics than he is at small talk because people look at his face and catch wind of his scent and learn what his last name is and suddenly there are all these expectations he’s supposed to live up to. But Steve ... he looks Tony directly in the eye, squares his shoulders, and says, “I do.” like he plans on exceeding whatever expectations Tony has about _him_ while expecting nothing in return for it.

It’s baffling.

Tony fumbles with his own, “I do.” and flushes under the patient gaze of Steve who gives him a wry grin that’s more for reassurance than it is to tease. He lifts his wrist at the same time Steve does, and they both take the time to meet each other’s gaze before nodding and taking a firm claiming bite that is painful, yes, but then unlike anything Tony ever expected.

He can feel Steve in the back of his head instantly, and there’s this feeling of relief because if it hadn’t worked ... if the Bite hadn’t taken …

Tony doesn’t even want to think about it. He doesn’t need to. It worked, and he’s officially bonded. He doesn’t say much when Steve hands him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth clean of the blood, even though he kind of wants to tease Steve for having it in the first place. God, his Alpha is such an old soul.

Tony blinks into the thought, wondering why it feels so natural to even think of Steve as his when it’s only been an hour. His mind whirrs with the effort of acclimating and rationalizing what he’s feeling. He blames it on the surge of hormones that are always expected in the first month of a new bond and he reminds himself to relax while the nearby Bond Medic checks their Bites over before cleaning and wrapping the wounds.

Steve has his game face on as the Bond Medic explains the special aftercare instructions, making it apparent that if either of them experiences any symptoms of a concussion, it could mean that the bond is being rejected and they need to seek medical assistance immediately.

Tony is too busy mentally mapping the layout of Steve’s apartment to rework a corner for himself where he can work on his projects to really pay attention. He’s not really used to such limited spacing, but he knows he will have to adjust until he and Steve can find something bigger. He thinks he vaguely remembers there being a ‘for rent’ sign on the gate of Steve’s building about a 2 bedroom apartment. Maybe he can bring it up later.

“Tony, you ready to go home?”

Tony blinks and realizes that Steve has ushered them back into the hall without him noticing. “How long have we been standing out here?” he asks.

Steve looks a mix between concerned but amused. “A few minutes,” he says.

Tony thinks maybe Steve’s being generous about the timing, but he shrugs and replies, “It’s probably a thing to note that I have a habit of losing time when I’m wandering the many twists and turns of my mind. But, home? Yes. We can. Yeah, that would be good. I actually haven’t slept in a while.”

Steve presses a warm hand to the small of his back, something only mildly possessive but it makes his Omega hind-brain flex and purr nevertheless. He sounds transparently concerned when he asks, “Haven’t slept? You didn’t find a shelter? Tony, I told you it was okay for you to stay. You should have doubled back. I wouldn’t have minded. Honest.”

“Relax. It’s only been ... what day is it again?”

“You not knowing what day it is really isn’t comforting. It’s Friday.”

“Is it? Nice. TGIF. I am going to sleep until Saturday. Or at least until I stop tasting purple.”

They are outside on the stone steps now, walking towards the street so Steve can hail a cab. When he’s successful, he opens the door and lets Tony climb in before he follows like some kind of gentlemen or something.

Steve gives the driver his address, and when the man begins to merge, sneaking glances at Tony through the rear-view mirror, Steve says, “Should I be worried that you can taste a color? That doesn’t sound like a normal thing.”

“Mm, maybe,” Tony sighs as he loosens his tie. “Better than the days when I can see sounds, like in comic books.”

“Right, of course. Much better,” Steve mutters sarcastically and looks sternly at the driver when he keeps looking at Tony. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Well if today is Friday, I’m thinking maybe Tuesday?” Tony can feel his body start to crumble under the weight of his exhaustion. He’s kind of zoning out, focusing on the small spark he feels in the back of his brain that represents Steve, and the throbbing almost-ache of the Bite on his wrist, as well as Steve’s Alpha scent. It’s all a little overwhelming. “It’s like they say. Genius never sleeps. Wait, is that how they say it? Or is it 'evil never sleeps'? What is it that never sleeps? Bats? No. Those workers at convenience stores like how they show in comics? No. Hydra? Uh. I might, uh, yeah, I think I’m going to fall asleep on you. That’s cool, right?”

“Yes, Tony. That’s fine. In fact, I insist,” Steve gently assures.

Tony is already letting his head fall onto Steve’s bony shoulder, waving the other man off when he apologizes for any discomfort he may be causing Tony. He mumbles, “I know I’m not supposed to do this in public but I’m really sleepy so you can be mad at me later.”

Steve makes a disgruntled sound. “I’m not gonna get mad about you falling asleep on me. Why would you think ...” He pauses suddenly and takes a deep breath. “Just rest. We can try and touch on that later, maybe.”

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles, eyes halfway to being closed as he gazes up at Steve. “Wake me up when we get there so you can piggyback me across the threshold. Stop glaring at the driver. M’your Omega, kay? He’s not gonna take me.”

Steve startles a little at that and goes a bit pink, looking caught.

The driver clears his throat but it sounds vaguely like he’s trying to cover up laughter. “Gotta brainy one, huh? My first wife was much the same. Never a dull moment. Didn’t mean to stare. He looks a lot like her. She died a little over three years ago, but she gave me three little ones, so not a total waste. Plus I got another one now, though it’s not the same, you know? Nothing beats your first Omega. You guys just get hitched or -”

Tony lets the sound of their conversation wash over him, ignoring the obnoxious Alpha driver and paying attention mostly to Steve’s voice and his clipped replies while it sends him adrift. Then he’s out like a light the next moment.

The next time Tony wakes up, he is blissfully buried under a cocoon of sheets, all saturated with Steve’s scent, and it’s just on the other side of overpowering that it makes him a little wet to think that this scent is _his_ and belongs to _him._  He spends a few moments rutting against the sheets dazedly before he falls right back to sleep with Steve’s presence fluttering like a hummingbird in the back of his mind.

The second time he wakes, it’s to Steve complaining about him hogging all the sheets, trying his best to yank even a corner from Tony, who snorts sleepily but loosens his grip to cuddle up to Steve. The other man pretends to complain about how forward Tony is being but quickly apologizes when Tony shrinks away. He insists over and over that it’s okay, healthy even, for them to do a little skin-on-skin bonding.

It’s only when Tony is completely pressed into the warm line of Steve’s side while his Alpha combs his long fingers through his hair to sooth him back to sleep that, yeah, maybe Steve really doesn’t mind the contact at all (despite what Tony has always been taught, which is you only touch each other when your intent is to mate). He drops back into sleep with his legs tangled into Steve’s and his ear pressed to Steve’s bony chest with the _thud, thud, thud_ of Steve’s quickened heartbeat lulling him into the inky blackness of unconsciousness.

The final time he wakes, his wrist is aching something awful but the smell of coffee and toast and eggs distract him from it. He sits up and lets the sheet fall to his waist and only realizes he’s half-naked when the chill of the apartment makes his nipples stand to attention. He lifts the sheet and notices he’s still got his underwear on and his socks but nothing else. He’s disappointed by the lack of clothing but he knows he doesn’t have a right to be. He really wants to put on a shirt, but if his Alpha wanted him to be half-naked ... well ...

“Hey, Steve. Not that I mind, but did you take off my clothes?”

There’s some commotion in the kitchen where it sounds like Steve is fumbling with something before there’s a crash of something shattering and a curse in the kitchen.

Tony climbs out of bed to see what that’s all about and watches as Steve is viciously scrubbing the floor dry of coffee and mug shards.

“Don’t come in!” Steve warns sharply, but not like he’s mad, more like he’s overly concerned. “I haven’t gotten everything up. I don’t want you to cut your feet open.”

Tony just clicks his tongue thoughtfully and drops to his knees to help him. “You never struck me as the clumsy type,” he teases as he carefully collects whatever shards he can find in one hand.

Steve is pink all over and studiously avoiding looking at Tony. His eye is looking much better, but Tony assumes it's his Alpha hormones doing most of the heavy lifting to get him all healed and sorted. Alphas are naturally fast healers, though Steve seems to be in the lower demographic of just how fast that happens if the purple still lingering around his eye is any indication.

“I have my moments,” Steve eventually mumbles. “I didn’t, by the way. Your clothes? You, ah, you kind of just took off your clothes when we ... after I carried you in. When I tried to offer to help you put on some sleepwear, you just smacked me in the face with a pillow before rolling yourself into a burrito with my sheets. You recited a few numbers of what might have been Pi, though I’m not that great at math to distinguish exactly if that's what it was, but eventually you went quiet. Well, up until you started snoring really loudly.”

Tony chokes on a laugh as he takes the shards in his hand and dumps them in the nearby trash. “Omegas don’t snore, Steve. Didn't you learn anything in Sex Ed? We are perfect beings who wouldn’t dare,” he complains theatrically as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “That was probably you.”

Steve snorts and hands him a new cup of coffee. “I don’t snore. But you on the other hand. Like sawing wood or something.”

“Wow, I hate to say it, but marriage has changed you,” Tony tsks as he steps out of the way so Steve can throw away the armful of damp brown napkins. He spends a few blissful moments just breathing in the scent of his coffee while his mouth waters. “You were so sweet to me in the beginning. Where’d that guy go?”

Steve rolls his eyes but he’s smiling at Tony fondly before his gaze begins to dip. He doesn’t go further than Tony’s chest before he’s quickly turning away to turn off the stove so the eggs don’t burn.

Tony isn’t shy. Again he knows what he looks like, and he’s used to being stared at like a piece of meat, since, you know, Omega. But it’s cute that Steve is trying to preserve his modesty. “Speaking of marriage. You know it’s totally cool if you want to check me out, right? Like, that should go without saying. If you want me walking around naked, I can make that happen. Technically, all of this belongs to you.”

“No. No, that’s not ... I shouldn’t have, uh. Sorry. You’re more than your body, Tony. It’s rude to ... I didn’t mean to look at you like that,” Steve mumbles, getting twitchy and nervous as he uses a spatula to distribute an even amount of eggs between two plates. “If you ... if you really want me to look, then I will look. You are beautiful, but that’s not ... there’s no excuse to look at you like that’s all there is. I, uh, I will only look if that’s okay. But not because it’s my - my _right_ or anything. But because you, you know, want me to. Doesn’t matter if we’re bonded or not. You - you’re your own person. Everything you are belongs to you until you say otherwise.”

Tony had been on the verge of teasing his Alpha some more, but those words are like a sucker-punch to the gut. Not in like a bad way or anything, god, he doesn’t think Steve is capable of offending or insulting anyone, even by mistake. But it’s just that no one has ever said anything like that to Tony. He spends a few moments trying to blink past the heat in his eyes and clearing his throat to an obnoxious degree that he has to set down his cooling cup of coffee to quickly double back to where Steve has set his duffle bags so he can root around for some clothes as a distraction.

He’s not putting on the clothes because he’s ashamed, but because Steve has reminded him that he has his Agency back, and he doesn’t _have_ to accept being just another pretty thing for his Alpha to look at, bonded or not. He jumps into some jeans and tugs on a graphic tee, feeling blissfully comfortable, before he rejoins Steve in the kitchen, thanking him shyly for the food and flushing when Steve gives him a pleased smile, complimenting his clothes in a way that Tony isn’t really used to, like Steve expects nothing back for doing so.

Tony has only ever gotten compliments because someone wanted something from him. But Steve is just ... he’s nice. He’s really nice and polite but firm and sure about what he thinks and what he feels. Tony isn’t sure what to do about that because it’s not what he expected. There’s a part of him that thinks Steve is just softening him up before he reveals exactly who he really is underneath, just another knothead Alpha who only wants Tony for his body and his breeding.

But Steve’s presence in the back of his mind, fluttering bright and true, just confirms what a genuine person Steve is, because not once does it twist into some ugly, and false. Then all at once, he’s curious to know what he feels like in Steve’s head. So he asks while Steve is taking their dishes to the sink to wash them and he finishes up his cup of coffee.

Steve makes some really amazing coffee, but he doesn’t seem to drink it, which makes Tony wonder why he even has the stuff.

“Dunno if I can describe it with the right words,” Steve murmurs thoughtfully as he plays with the temperature of the faucet while the pipes give a resistant whine.

Tony makes a mental note to take a look and maybe tinker with it while Steve is gone. There’s no reason why they should be making such a commotion, even if this is a pretty old building. He thinks maybe he should ask Steve before he does anything like that, but he’s a little apprehensive in case he’s given a firm ‘no’ about it. So, well, his motto is 'better to ask forgiveness than permission'.

“Come on. Try for me,” Tony presses as he rests his head in his hand while his Bite mark twinges in protest. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Steve huffs. Then he says, “It’s like ... the North Star. Steady and unyielding. Confident with its direction. Steadfast.”

Tony is glad that Steve isn’t looking at him because he’s too busy using his fingertips to try and massage away the ridiculous smile overtaking his face as stubborn feelings of validation pour into his gut like a warm, hearty broth.

“Does that make sense?” Steve asks, shutting off the water and turning in time to see Tony try and fix his face. He frowns in concern. “Tony?”

Tony clears his throat and fidgets. “No, that was really clear,” he admits and fidgets some more as he flushes.

Steve’s frown deepens but then he’s smiling sweetly. “You’re flattered,” he reasons. “The bond does this thing when you ... you’re flattered, right? Or am I reading this wrong?”

Geez, Tony forgot that the bond will betray some of his emotions. There’s no way to get around it really. “So, maybe, I’m like, just a little, tiny, really, really minuscule, uh ... flattered,” he grudgingly admits.

Steve laughs and his side of the bond flexes contently, bursting with joyous triumph.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Anyway, if you want to know what your side is like, it’s more of a ... like a fluttering. You know, like a hummingbird’s wings? But not frantic or anything. Peaceful in a way. Kind of like how meditation would feel, I guess. If I was ever into that sort of thing. It’s really calm. Almost dreamy. Eh, I like it.”

Steve’s gaze ducks low, like he’s being bashful, but the half-grin sitting on his mouth seems too proud. “That’s, ah, good, Tony. I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to be a nuisance.”

Tony hums thoughtfully, amused by this thread of conversation more than anything. He definitely did not see things being this easy or feeling this natural. But, then again, he doesn’t know what he should have expected other than the things he was taught growing up or the things he’s read.

“So I was thinking we can stop by the store and get you anything you might need,” Steve says. “My ma invited us for dinner. She really wants to meet you.”

Tony lets that sink in before he asks, “Does she know that this is - that we have -”

“Yeah, I tell her everything,” Steve says with an apologetic smile. “Hope that’s okay.”

“I mean, it’s fine,” Tony shrugs even though he’s extremely nervous. What if she doesn’t like him?

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Oh for the love - did I say that out loud?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t she like you, Tony?”

“I don’t know, Steve. That’s part of why it’s so nerve-wracking. By all accounts, you married a complete stranger within 24 hours of meeting them. She’d be within her rights to question my intentions or give me the side-eye.”

Steve is wearing a very serious and thoughtful expression. It makes Tony want to kiss him, and yeah, he’s getting pretty fed up with the urge because like, what even? He says, “You trust me, right?”

Tony blinks because that’s not what he expected his Alpha to say. “Yes,” he replies slowly.

“Then believe me when I say she’ll love you,” Steve promises firmly. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Sure,” Tony mumbles and watches Steve disappear into the bathroom. He wonders if maybe he underestimated what he’s gotten them both into.


	2. YEAR 1: PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - hope ya'll take to it. Please let me know how I did. I am a human plant that needs lots of attention to grow.

Steve really isn’t in the habit of getting into fights in the alley. No matter what Bucky or Sam might have to say about it, the goofs.

The only reason he’s at that particular movie theater that night is because he and Sam had just seen Bucky off for his first deployment overseas earlier that day and he had wanted to take his mind off of things. It had been hard watching Bucky climb onto one of the many army-issued Helicarriers east-bound for a war-stricken Africa, flooded with Hydra vermin who were, admittedly, doing more damage there than probably any other invasion the continent had ever experienced.

Steve hates Hydra with a passion. Hates everything that they stand for, all the cruel things they do. And it’s not some age-old Alpha instinct roaring up in him, demanding bloodshed because anyone who tries to use that excuse is an idiot. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, no, that’s not what the fight would mean to him. He just dislikes anyone who threw their weight around in an attempt to strong-arm those weaker than them.

They were bullies, and Steve can never abide a bully. Which means it really shouldn’t be a surprise that he went to the movies that night just to take his mind off of the fact that one of his best friends had been sent to fight a continually escalating and bloody war without either Sam or Steve to watch his back. And of course it would end with him getting in some type of altercation.

Steve hadn’t been in the highest spirits, to begin with, so when that loud jerk started making crude and cruel comments, to the point where any kid within hearing distance started to whimper or cry while this schmuck continued on and on, throwing popcorn around like confetti. He tries to be polite, tries to be fair. Maybe the guy had a rough day like Steve has, though Steve isn’t taking out his frustrations of being denied enlistment for maybe the thousandth time because of his bonding status or lack of on those around him.

But Steve is someone who doesn’t want to be anything like how society perceives the macho-selfish beings Alphas to be because, if anything, his small stature and varying sicknesses have helped to humble him rather than make him bitter. Which is why he has respect for people of all walks of life, and yes, he will admit, Omegas more than anything because they are the ones with the hardest time of it.

Anyway, even though Steve was nice and polite and patient, the loud jerk decided to take it as disrespect, as a threat of a challenge. And when the loud jerk flexed his muscles and questioned whether or not Steve was sure he wanted to take this outside, he didn’t back down. The other Alpha’s lip had curled meanly when everyone cheered Steve while booing the loud jerk, making comments about how they were glad to see him go.

Well, the fist that came flying at him the next moment they were out in that dark, wet alley was no real surprise. Steve had seen many a fist of all shapes and sizes swinging his way nearly all his life, just because he can never leave well enough alone.

What is a surprise, however, is the undeniably gorgeous Omega that comes to his defense, not by physical force, but by words and cunning. And, well, Steve’s the type of fool to strongly admire such a willful display of bravery.

Very few Omegas would just insinuate themselves between an Alpha brawl but that’s what Tony did without batting an eye. He hadn’t even _known_ Steve, and he put himself between him and the loud jerk, planting his feet and staring down the other Alpha with the kind of defiance that Steve had a hard time pretending he didn’t find outrageously attractive.

Steve managed to pull himself from the trash heap, tossing away the circular trash cover he was going to use as a shield but was no longer needed. The familiar heat and sting of a swelling eye throbbing at the forefront of his mind while Tony looked him over carefully with concern shining through his large, beautiful brown eyes, and he feels his stupid Alpha lizard brain flex in interest.

Then Tony humbles him by mistaking him for just another Omega, which, because of his height and stature, wasn’t such an unreasonable assumption. It was also not the first time it had happened, but that didn’t mean it didn’t sting the old pride just the same each time. But he squares his shoulders, emotionally picking himself up and dusting the assumption off before politely correcting the other man.

Instead of being offended or saying something cruel, Tony had all but admitted in an apologetic tone that he needed to reconsider his personal biases before introducing himself in such short order. He had also made a dismissive comment about being disowned that Steve had a hard time trying to figure out if it had been a poor joke or an unthinkable truth.

Granted, Steve knows nothing about Tony to really fathom why anyone would do such a thing to this whirlwind of an Omega, but in case it was a sore subject, he didn’t ask or bring attention to it. He found himself wanting to make a better impression than the one he had going for him currently. He wasn’t quite sure what he should be saying to relay his thanks to Tony for sticking up him, and he found himself wishing Bucky was there to give him some advice.

The Beta was better at charming people than Steve was by any day, though Bucky would gleefully disagree and point out that Steve was the one who always had a full dance card in the dating scene all throughout high school, but that was ... that’s not really … well, there hadn’t been any real spark there in any of those situations.

At least not like there had been with Peggy, who he had an enormous crush on ever since she transferred from overseas when he was just a sophomore and she a senior in high school. She had liked him just the same, though she never said, but he imagined it to be true. He still remembers the night he begged her to wait for him until he became of age so that they could bond. She never promised, but it still kind of broke his heart when he learned, from his mom no less, that she’d gotten knocked up by some knothead who bailed the moment he learned.

Peggy had nearly punched him in the face when he offered to step up, even though he was still a year shy of being of age to even do so. And, well, that had been that. They’re still really good friends, managing to move past that awkwardness with a series of frank conversations he doesn’t like to reminisce over too much. He sometimes visits Peggy and her daughter Sharon, whenever he can make it out to Staten Island to check up on them. He’s really relieved that he’s gotten to a point where he can look at Peggy like more of a sister rather than with heartache and longing. It’s still tough, but it’s ... _endurable_.

Anyway, the point is that he’s a bit rusty when it comes to talking to someone with such nicely proportioned features.

But Tony has no problem filling in the gaps of silence for Steve, throwing a few facts around, pillowing them between questions that he asks, but sometimes answers for himself.

Steve isn’t sure why, but he kind of likes that. It’s a little calming in a way, to watch Tony engage with him and look at him with such curious eyes instead of pity. Steve has been on the other end of that look more times than he’d like to admit.

But Tony just grins at him, and drags him to a local diner that Steve has passed maybe a few times on his commute to work but never been inside of. He has a strict budget he likes to look after, and eating out is only a special thing he allows himself maybe once every six months. The only reason he lets Tony monopolize him is because of Tony’s confidence that he can earn them a free meal.

Steve likes to think that he has a trustworthy gut. It hasn’t necessarily failed him in the past, and it didn’t then when Tony proved, not only his intelligence, but showed some emotional vulnerability that, again, makes his stupid Alpha lizard brain flex in interest, and maybe also something a little protective.

The sensation only grows stronger when Tony all but admits to being denied the freedom to enjoy simple things, like eating a cheeseburger for Christ’s sake. He’s never met another American who hadn’t had that particular pleasure, but the awed look on Tony’s face after the first bite makes Steve glad he’s there to witness it nevertheless.

Steve finds himself smiling with great humor when Tony pushes his fries around with decided disinterest. Steve has to say that they aren’t the best he’s ever tasted either, but it’s a shame that Tony doesn’t realize that sometimes it’s better than that, though he makes no mention of it.

He’s too busy staring at the spellbinding way Tony’s face lights up at the _rain._  The rain! Like he’s never seen a more wonderful and captivating sight before. It intrigues yet upsets Steve to think that this obviously brilliant Omega has been denied the enjoyment of things like that. He’s not sure what kind of folks Tony has but he kind of wants to have a perhaps less than civil conversation about their parenting skills.

Steve knows he has no right to it, so he just eats his fill instead, clearing his plate and ignoring the fact that he still feels famished. He can’t really afford to get anymore, even though his body is craving the extra fuel to resolve his black eye. It’s been his experience that the more he eats, the faster he has a tendency to heal because unlike most Alphas, his hormones needed extra help maintaining healthy levels.

He tries to be vague about that when Tony questions him, and because the Omega seems to like to keep him on his toes, he goes out of his way to _give_ Steve his leftovers without batting an eye.

Steve is usually the one sacrificing his food for someone else’s comfort, he’d done it all the time growing up with Bucky and Sam when either of them hadn’t had anything for lunch while they were in school and couldn’t afford to purchase anything. Sam and Bucky returned the favor plenty of times, but not without Steve’s pride rearing its ugly head in the process.

But with Tony, for some reason, it’s different. It’s like a gift that he feels overly reluctant to reject. And he doesn’t.

Tony looks at him and smiles at him in a way that makes Steve very happy he hadn’t. The overly pleased but grateful expression makes Tony look even more beautiful than he already is.

It’s almost like looking directly into the sun, so bright that it makes Steve want to look away. He can’t.

Then Tony asks about going back to his place and his brain nearly short-circuits, and he has to quickly slam down any fantasies that arise while Tony quickly corrects and explains himself.

If Steve’s gaze continues to dart to Tony’s mouth when he makes the offer to let Tony walk him home, well, he doesn’t think Tony notices. At least he hopes not.  

What happens after that, is almost a blur of dream-like insanity because he gets _engaged._ Him, who was sure that after Peggy he could never have it in him to try at that sort of thing, gets engaged to a complete stranger on the basis of a pinky promise. But the thought that he may be able to enlist within a year and fight alongside Bucky, watch his six, and drag him home safe and sound, is enough for him to agree to this crazy scheme. Plus it didn’t hurt that he’d be helping Tony get his Agency back.

Steve’s stomach is a ball of nerves the rest of the night after Tony leaves, and the fact that he can still smell the Omega on some of his possessions only makes him more anxious. He’s worried he made the wrong decision by letting Tony go back out into the world by himself, and tries to ignore the scenarios of danger that his mind tries to string up. He just focuses on Tony’s lingering scent.

He’s not sure why he had let Tony roam around his studio, scent-marking his things before they had even had the inevitable conversation about bonding. It was undoubtedly rude and forward, and if it had been anyone else, he would have said so. But with Tony, he had wanted to let him do it, had wanted to have something lingering behind when Tony left, assuming that this would be the only time they would ever cross paths. It had been a brief, selfish thing.

Steve doesn’t get much sleep as the thought of his upcoming nuptials swam laps in his mind, and it’s only walking to the local thrift shop, early next morning to see if they had any affordable coffee machines that he calms himself by splurging on this one thing. He’s not in a place where he can buy Tony a ring, though he wishes he could because the Omega deserved nothing less than, but he hopes this gesture can substitute as a wedding present.

He goes to Town Hall almost thirty minutes early because he’s punctual and he also likes to punish himself with the wait. He’s wearing his best suit, nicely pressed, hoping Tony doesn’t think he’s being over the top for having done so. He sits on the bench and mentally prepares himself for any disappointment that might follow Tony’s absence if the Omega has a change of heart.

Tony doesn’t have a change of heart.

He walks down the hall in an amazingly tailored suit that has to be worth more than Steve has ever given in rent for an entire year, ignoring all the curious and interested (sometimes lewd) stares to maintain his single-minded focus of seeking Steve out.

Steve feels a little but like prey, an exciting thrill going through him at the thought. He scrambles to his feet while his heart races at the mere sight of the younger man, fumbling over his compliments like some sort of heavy-tongued idiot. He keeps thinking that even though it’s Tony’s birthday, he’s the one that feels like he’s being given a priceless gift.

Steve resolves to do anything he can to show Tony how much he appreciates the arrangement they have made when they say their vows, feelings of warm, mushy pride overloading his senses when Tony flushes prettily under his gaze and the serious weight to his words. Steve wants to see that color on him more and more, though he couldn’t explain why.

Tony shows his bravery through the whole proceedings, and even when they mark each other with a Bite. His side of the bond comes through startlingly clear, as though it had always been there, lying dormant and waiting for this very moment.

Steve nearly cries at the sensation, because, wow, he’s not alone anymore, but he barely manages to refrain from doing just that as the Bond Medic looks them over. He distracts himself by paying close attention as the Bond Medic explains all the aftercare instructions.

“And if either of you should feel any aches or pains to the Bite, that’s normal. You’ll need to do a Wash,” they explain. “I’m sure you learned about this in Sex Ed but for my own peace of mind, I’ll explain anyway. So a Wash is when either of you sooth each other’s wounds with the help of your salivary glands. It’s not required, but it’s optional, and it does make sure that the scarring forms accordingly without any unsightly abrasions. It’s a cosmetic ritual, but it does offer the kind of pain relief that over-the-counter medicine won't.”

“Understood,” Steve says, glancing at Tony to see what he thinks of it but the Omega seems a little dazed and distracted. He clears his throat and looks back to the medic. “Anything we should be worried about?”

The Bond Medic goes on to explain that any signs similar to a concussion are a big indicator that they need to seek medical assistance right away, as it could mean that the bond is being rejected from either side.

Steve takes that in and lets himself feel Tony’s side. There’s a slight simmering of contentment but also exhaustion that he’s able to puzzle out. He doesn’t think maybe they will run into that kind of trouble but he shakes the medic’s, the judge’s, and the court-appointed witness’s hand and thanks them all for their time before carefully leading Tony out into the hall.

Tony eyes are moving restlessly but it doesn’t look like he’s really seeing anything he’s looking at.

Steve has to call his name several times before the haze clears and then he’s on the other end of Tony’s cunning gaze, which sends a thrill through him in a way he can’t really describe. But it does make the Alpha in him puff up in pride, unable to resist pressing a possessive hand to the small of Tony’s back as he leads them outside.

He isn’t really proud of the way he stares down anyone who looks at his Omega with any kind of interest. He thinks it’s just the newness of the bond that’s really pressing on his baser instincts and he’s careful to monitor it as best he can, lest he gives Tony the wrong idea. Yes. He will chill, as Sam would say. Just … right after their cab driver stops eyeing Tony like a choice cut of meat. 

Steve thinks he’s being subtle about his disapproving looks, distracting Tony by asking him when the last time he slept was before that spirals into growing alarm that for whatever reason, Tony seems to think it’s _improper_ to sleep on his husband’s shoulder in public.

Christ, he really _really_ wants to have that less than civil conversation with Tony’s parents. He will, he knows there’s no avoiding it when their marriage certificate alerts their families of the “happy news”. But for now, he’ll have to try and figure out a way to get Tony to explain exactly what his upbringing taught him about physical contact.

The cab driver continues to stare, even as Steve is reassuring (encouraging) Tony to rest his eyes, and he thinks Tony is too exhausted to notice.

But then Tony’s saying, “Stop glaring at the driver. M’your Omega, kay? He’s not gonna take me.” and Steve is beet red and mortified.

Tony smiles at him sweetly before closing his eyes and the cab driver is laughing, trying to wrangle Steve into some obnoxious, and a rather sexist conversation, Alpha to Alpha.

Steve barely pays attention, keeping his answers short and clipped while his knee bounces restlessly at the growing aroma of peaches and pine-cones wafting from his Omega. It puts him a little on edge, makes him protective, and if he’s quick to exit the car with Tony in tow, he’s glad the cab driver says nothing of it.

Tony isn’t light, but Steve, despite appearances, is stronger than he looks. He totes a sleeping Tony up four flights of stairs (elevators are down) to his, well not just his anymore, but _their_ apartment nearly tripping over the duffle bags that are waiting outside the door.

Steve will have to tell Tony that they can’t really do things like that in this neighborhood, though it’s a lucky thing no one has disturbed Tony’s possessions. He takes a moment to sit Tony on the bed, grab his inhaler to offset an impending asthma attack due to the strenuous activity of getting Tony here in one piece. Then when his chest feels less like it’s buried under a pile of bricks, he gets to work with dragging Tony’s duffle bags in and placing them to the side.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says gently as he returns to the bed, ignoring the swell of contentment he has at seeing Tony practically nesting in his bed. “Do you have some, ah, sleepwear you might want to put on?”

Tony just grunts and ignores him, focusing on rubbing himself against Steve’s sheets with a dissatisfied sound.

Steve watches with amusement but interest. “Everything okay?”

Tony sits up, and glares at him. “Not enough,” he mumbles.

Steve is about to ask what he means by that but he’s thwarted from the attempt as he becomes tongue-tied at the sight of Tony moodily stripping out of his clothes.

Tony tosses everything to and fro until he’s in nothing but his underwear and socks, mumbling strings of equations that might have something to do with the numbers of Pi but Steve's not sure.

“Uh…” Steve can feel his mouth water at the sight of all that naked skin and he has to look away as his cock twitches with dawning interest. It pains him to ask, but, “Tony, uh, you have any clothes you might want to put on?”

Tony's reply comes in the form of a pillow, which he smacks against Steve’s face lightly. “M’fine, Steve,” he mumbles petulantly before rolling himself in Steve’s sheets like some kind of caterpillar, making all sorts of content sounds that definitely does not help Steve become any less aroused.

Geez, there is something primal in Steve that cocks its head at the noise, urging him, quite insistently, that he follow that sound and make it louder, make it breathless. Steve is not the perfect human, he knows, and he struggles with his desires just like anyone else. It’s just that ... it’s never been this hard - _difficult!_ It’s never been this difficult, goddamn it.

But then Tony drifts off completely and starts to snore.

It’s enough to distract Steve from his internal musings and he smiles at how ridiculous but adorable his Omega sounds as he snores like a buzz saw. He’ll have to tease Tony about that later when he’s lucid enough.

Steve sighs and goes through the motions of picking Tony’s clothes up and folding them before neatly setting it with the rest of his things. Then he goes over to his closet and clears out some space, as well as with his dressers. He’ll let Tony know that he has the freedom to put his things away when he’s awake enough to comprehend it.

Next, he’s hunting down the journal where he keeps a ledger of all his financial expenses to mark down the cab fare and the coffee machine he bought. He uses the refurbished smartphone he bought off some kid from eBay, and checks the levels to his bank account, adjusting his budgets to accommodate for Tony. He finds the process very calming and rewarding. He’s always enjoyed making plans and seeing them through. It’s a bit exciting to have a new element like Tony to include in things now.

When he’s satisfied that he has enough to cover the costs of making an unexpected trip to the local supermarket to get Tony anything he needs, he closes his expense ledger and stows it away. He’ll have to show it to Tony sometime, and see what he thinks about it. He’s willing to listen to anything his Omega has to say, after all, such is married life.

Steve glances at Tony just as the sun is dipping into the late evening, nothing but a cowlick of his dark hair can really be seen, but the slow up and down of his chest assures Steve that Tony hasn’t smothered himself.

He takes a moment to contemplate calling his Ma while he makes some ramen, using only the light from the stove-top vent to do so. He tries to use as little electricity as possible to keep his utility bills down. He usually prefers to do things by candlelight to offset that expense but he’s not sure how Tony will feel about adjusting to Steve’s thrifty lifestyle.

Steve is all but sure, based on the overly generous tip Tony left at the diner the other night, that he’s used to the finer things. Things that Steve couldn’t really even hope to afford or give him at this point in his life. It makes him a little upset and guilty that maybe he should have really outlined that for Tony.  

He calls Sam to share his woes.

“ _Maaaaan, it’s just like you to marry a complete stranger just to get your scrawny ass on the front lines with Buckaroo_ ,” Sam teases on the other end.

Steve chuckles, already feeling better. Between bites, he says, “You know what they say about desperate times.”

Sam just makes a thoughtful sound, neither agreeing or disagreeing. “ _But seriously, I’ve known you all my life. You not the type to just, I don’t know, do anything unless you’re absolutely sure. You sound sure about this arrangement ya’ll got going on, though the finances thing is definitely a conversation you should have._ ”

Steve hums his agreement as he continues to eat, glancing over his shoulder once and a while to check on Tony. When it looks like he’s not stirring anytime soon, he rises to help himself to the portion of ramen he had been saving for him. “Listen, I never said this because I was in such a lousy mood about Bucky shipping out, but, I appreciate you flying out this way to see him off with me. I know the commute from D.C. isn’t a small thing.”

“ _You kiddin’? Course I was gonna be there to see that goofy take all the stupid with him,_ ” the Beta jokes affectionately. “ _He promised he’d keep in touch. Stop worrying._ ”

“How d’ya know I’m worryin’?” Steve mutters, slipping into his Brooklyn drawl without even thinking about it.

“ _Cause I know you, Stevie. B.B. will be just fine until you can get over there. He ain’t just somethin’ pretty to look at._ ”

“He’d disagree,” Steve replies and they both laugh at that before they settle into a comfortable silence.

“ _Anyway, I gotta get going. Riley sounding the alarm for dinner, and you know how he gets when it’s ignored,_ ” Sam says with a mock-sigh, making Steve smile as he thinks on it. “ _You bring your boy by sometime, huh? And I don’t wanna hear nothin’ bout you riding those terrible Megabus and Greyhound lines just to save money. Told you, Riley and I got you if you ever wanna fly out. It pays being the arm candy of an upcoming Senator._ ”

Steve laughs softly but grudgingly agrees to it, knowing Sam won’t back down until he does. They were all stubborn, which is probably why they had been such good friends for so long, refusing to give up on one another. Til the end of the line, that’s what they always say, what they will always mean.

Steve cleans up after himself and hides away in his bathroom to call his Ma, figuring she would just be getting in from Bible Study with some of her friends.

“ _Steve_ ,” Ma sighs happily in that way that never fails to make him feel so very loved and wanted. “ _Me lahvely. ‘ow are ya?_ ”

Steve spills everything.

“ _O is ceol mo chroí thú,_ ” Ma laughs disbelievingly, dipping into her Irish brogue heavily, just for him. “ _Goodness, I could say that it's naht like you, but that's naht quite true, hm? You’ve always been a busy bahy. Me squirmy worm._ ” 

“Ma…” Steve shakes his head as his face goes pink. She loves to embarrass him with the pet names. She had been relentless all through his middle school and high school career. Bucky and Sam _still_ tease him about it. “Guess it’s a relief that you don’t think I’m crazy for it.”

“ _No, you are. But I blame your father fahr that. 'e was much the same way. Wish you could 'ave known 'im before 'e died on the birthin bed. 'e'd be proud o' ya._ ” 

Steve smiles sadly as he begins to tear up. She always made sure to remind him of that whenever it seemed like he was in doubt. His Alpha mother is his only reference for what his Omega father was like.

“ _Come around fahr dinner. Let's see who's gahne and made you honest._ ” (Translation: I want to meet Tony and I’m not taking no for an answer.)

“Sure, Ma, we’ll come over tomorrow night,” Steve promises as he rubs his face dry with a sigh. “He’s really something else, you know? I just ... can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like him. He’s ... something else.”

“ _Aye_.”

“You know it was his birthday today? But he kind of celebrated it with me last night, you know, the thing with the cheeseburgers I mentioned. I swear, it’s like he’d been stranded on some remote island and finally escaped to the mainlands. He looks at everything like he wants to know how it ticks, but … well, he also acts like he’s got no rights to any of it.”

“' _e’s an O, Stevie. But 'e's yours, an you do right by 'im_.” (Translation: The world hasn’t been kind to him. But you better be. I raised you to know better.)

“He’s keeping me honest,” Steve swears. “Wouldn’t want it to be any other way. He deserves …”

“ _Steve?_ ” Ma questions the pause.

“Everything,” Steve sighs and rubs at his face tiredly. “I just hope that I’m the one that can help him get it.”

“ _Aye_.”

“Think he would like a cake? I feel bad, you know, that all we did today was get married. It’s his birthday.”

“ _Never you mend about all that. I'll make de best o' what I 'ave_.” (Translation: I’ll make a cake and we can surprise him. No worries.)

“Thanks, Ma. You’re the best,” Steve boasts and his Ma just clicks her tongue in agreement. “Now, tell me what I missed in the old neighborhood.”

His Ma is an incorrigible gossip and she has no trouble catching him up to speed on the latest. She mostly talks about all the things she’s been getting up to with Sam and Bucky’s parents, all of them are still close because of the bond their children share. Steve is happy for it though, makes him feel a little better about moving out and moving closer to the city on the other side of town.

It’s veering into midnight by the time he gets off the phone with his Ma, unsurprising since he can talk to the older Alpha for hours. He gets up to go check on Tony, and his approach must alert the Omega because he’s making these sweet, fussy and disgruntled sounds at the commotion.

Steve smiles and watches him squirm for a moment before his mouth gets dry at the unmistakable way Tony pushes his hips down towards the bed for some friction. The scent of his slick hits Steve like a freight train, and there’s a moment where he’s suspended in the desire to rip those sheets apart with his bare hands to get to his Omega and eat Tony out until he’s delirious with pleasure, until it’s too much for him that it makes him cry, mouth trembling while he says nothing but repetitions of Steve’s name.

He races to the shower and turns the temperature to the coldest setting so he can calm the hell down. The last thing he wants to do is jump Tony and lose his respect, or worse, his trust. He’s a shivering mess by the time he climbs out and mentally kicks himself for it. The last thing he needs to do is make himself vulnerable to getting sick. He can be a lot to handle when he’s ill, and with things still being so new, he doesn’t want to stress Tony with that.

He makes a quick work of putting on some clean boxers and sweatpants, opting out of a shirt, thinking a little skin-on-skin is in order, considering it’s their first night together, and it would be beneficial to their bond as a whole.

Trying to pry the covers from Tony, however, is like trying to pry a pearl from a clam that’s been glued shut with the industrial stuff. It takes him begging before Tony lets up with a sleepy, amused huff that Steve kind of wants to kiss him for, but he climbs in the bed instead, on the verge of asking if it’s okay if they can curl up together, but Tony is already there, clinging to him like an octopus.

Steve makes a little stupid joke about Tony being handsy but immediately realizes it’s the wrong thing to say because his Omega flinches and shies away instantly, looking at him with groggy but wounded eyes.

It takes him nearly half an hour to apologize and assure and explain that it’s okay for them to embrace. Tony just looks at him dazedly with uncertain and apprehensive eyes, but there’s also something else in that gaze, a sort of needy desperation. That’s the moment he realizes that Tony is quite possibly touch-starved.

When Tony feels brave enough to cuddle up to him again, Steve doesn’t take it for granted for a single second, taking the time to pet the younger man with careful, but appreciative caresses and strokes. He pays careful attention to the way Tony sighs contently when he runs his fingers through Tony’s soft hair.

He falls into a deep sleep before he even realizes it’s happening, chest rumbling as the scent of his Omega sends him adrift.

.

.

.

Steve has always been an early riser, but there’s something about being asleep beside another person that has kept him under longer than usual. He doesn’t normally sleep in on a Saturday. He likes to do a walking jog around the local park before doubling back to decide whether he had enough money to visit his Ma or visit Peggy.

But his schedule is a little off with the sudden insertion of Tony in his life. Not that he’s complaining. Actually the opposite. He’s never felt so well rested and in high spirits. He doesn’t mind that it’s close to noon by the time he convinces himself to detangle from Tony to start his morning routine, which includes a light shave, though he’s not able to grow a full beard. He’d rather keep his face smooth instead of letting it grow in patches like some kind of prepubescent teen.

Steve spends as little time as possible looking at himself in the mirror when he doesn’t have a lot of clothes on because the sight of his own ungainliness has always been a source of discomfort and shame for him. He puts on some light jeans and a button-down because he feels more comfortable with a sort of corporate casual style and is glad to see that his black eye is diminishing slowly but surely.

While he makes some eggs and toast for him and Tony, he watches a few YouTube tutorials on the best way an amateur like him can make a decent cup of coffee. He really wants to get it right. It takes maybe six messy tries but he nails it on the seventh round and is pouring Tony a cup just as he hears the Omega stir, and just as his side of the bond flares actively in the back of Steve’s head.

He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to the sensation, and there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to because he likes it.

Steve is on the verge of saying good morning when Tony beats him to the punch by asking, “Hey, Steve. Not that I mind, but did you take off my clothes?” and his grip on the mug just loosens in surprise. He says a few swears that his Ma would probably tug his ear for and quickly gets to work with cleaning up the mess before anything like ants becomes an issue.

Tony comes over to help, ignoring his protests with a teasing grin and Steve thinks he makes the loveliest vision on his knees while he gives Steve a hard time while also easing the burden of cleaning.

For someone who claimed to not be much use when it comes to that area, Tony sure had no trouble acclimating without much thought.

Steve is doing his best not to stare, though judging by the heat on his face, that’s probably obvious to Tony, who clucks his tongue and calls Steve clumsy.

Steve tries to find his footing in the conversation again by explaining to Tony how he came to be half-naked and doesn’t resist the urge to make a jab about the snoring.

Tony’s response is perfect. He gets all puffed up and indignant, spewing nonsense about Omega stereotypes that Steve is honestly worried he might believe. But his joking tone makes it hard for Steve to tell either way.

Tony only confirms the assumption by saying, “You know it’s totally cool if you want to check me out right? Like, that should go without saying. If you want me walking around naked, I can make that happen. Technically, all of this belongs to you.”

Steve doesn’t even know what to say to that because Tony seemed very serious. He fumbles over his response, never one to really be the best with words, but when Tony all but jumps into his clothes and returns with a look of contentment, he thinks, yeah, maybe with Tony he doesn’t have to worry about being misunderstood.

He compliments Tony’s choice in an outfit, and is rewarded with one of his angelically shy smiles while he blushes. The bond purrs in the back of his mind in a way he notices is so uniquely connected to Tony’s response to praise. He kind of looks at Steve a little warily when he does it, like he’s not used to being on the receiving end of anything genuine, and that kind of pisses Steve off too. He silently vows to try and compliment Tony as much as possible until Tony understands that he is absolutely deserving of it.

Tony asks him, point blank, what his side of the bond feels like on Steve’s end, while also making these pleased little mewling sounds as he drinks the cup of coffee Steve made.

Steve squirms, not completely unaffected by the noise, but he’s more thrilled than he is turned on that Tony has taken a shine to his attempts of brewing. He says, “Dunno if I can describe it with the right words.”

Tony pouts and widens his eyes as he rests his chin in his propped hand. “Come on. Try for me. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Steve’s gaze instantly dips to the bandage concealing his Bite, and he wonders if Tony’s is aching as bad as his is right now.

Tony widens his eyes pleadingly even more.

How is Steve supposed to resist that? He doesn’t, which is why when he responds, he makes sure he’s as transparent as possible while he takes their dishes to the sink to be washed.

It’s worth it.

Tony is quiet but when he turns to check on him, Tony is quickly trying to school his face into something neutral, but Steve knows he didn’t imagine the wide smile he caught. He clears his throat and fidgets. “That was really clear,” he admits and fidgets some more as he flushes.

Steve can feel himself frowning at Tony’s subdued tone, but there’s no mistaking the way his end of the bond is purring which must mean… “You’re flattered,” he reasons, smiling like a total doof because he’s managed to charm his Omega. “The bond does this thing when you ... you’re flattered, right? Or am I reading this wrong?”

Tony sends him a mutinous look over it and Steve worries, but not much, that maybe he’s being a little smug. He can’t help it though and Tony eventually fesses up.

Steve beams and barely manages to keep his chest from puffing out.

Tony rolls his eyes either way. “Anyway, if you want to know what your side is like, it’s more of a...like a fluttering. You know, like a hummingbird’s wings? But not, frantic or anything. Peaceful in a way. Kind of like how meditation would feel, I guess. If I was ever into that sort of thing. It’s really calm. Almost dreamy. Eh, I like it.”

Steve can envision it perfectly as he ducks his head so he can smile to himself. It’s more than he would have hoped for. He’s glad it’s that way for Tony, because if he’s honest, he wants to be that and more for the Omega. He vaguely says as much to the younger man.

Tony gets thoughtfully quiet, but his mouth is twisted in an amused grin as he finishes up the last of his coffee.

Steve glances at the watch on his wrist and figures they might as well get things moving. “So I was thinking we can stop by the store and get you anything you might need. My Ma invited us for dinner. She really wants to meet you.”

Tony looks a little nervous. “Does she know that this is - that we have -”

Shit. Maybe he should have thought this through a little better. Steve should have tried to see how much of a private person Tony was before he went around blabbing about their arrangement. Well. Nothing he can do for it now but try and recover from the misstep.

“Yeah, I tell her everything,” Steve goes on to say with an apologetic smile. “Hope that’s okay.”

“I mean, it’s fine,” Tony shrugs, well, he tries to shrug. It’s more of a jerky up and down motion of his shoulders and he looks a little pale. Then he says, “God, what if she doesn’t like me?”

Steve is taken aback by the amount of insecurity he can hear in Tony’s voice, and it’s starting to become clear that he must have a _learned_ talent for concealing this side. Softly, so not to upset him, he asks, “Why wouldn’t she like you?”

Tony startles regardless, looking horrified and annoyed, all at once. “Oh for the love - did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” Steve confirms but he’s not budging on this. “Why wouldn’t she like you, Tony?”

Tony crosses his arms, wearing that mutinous expression of his that Steve is beginning to identify as his way of putting up walls out of fear of maybe closeness or vulnerability. “I don’t know, Steve. That’s part of why it’s so nerve-wracking. By all accounts, you married a complete stranger within 24 hours of meeting them. She’d be within her rights to question my intentions or give me the side-eye.”

Steve can’t stand to see him agonize over it, and he’s liking Tony’s parents less and less the more he begins to puzzle out who Tony is as a person. He takes a deep breath and pushes the irritation aside. “You trust me, right?”

Tony looks uncertain but he still says, “Yes.”

Steve rewards him with a half-grin for his bravery, he know that must have been difficult for him to admit. “Then believe me when I say she’ll love you.” He lets the statement rest like a vow between them. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

Tony already looks lost in his own thoughts when he mumbles, “Sure.”

Steve wants to know what he’s thinking but he doesn’t want to push things, so he disappears in the bathroom for a moment. He’s doesn’t need to do anything per se, he just wanted to give Tony space, since the layout of their apartment doesn’t afford them much privacy. He waits maybe ten minutes before he comes back out again.

Tony is stepping into some sneakers and tying them up.

“I’m done in there if you needed a turn,” Steve says as he goes hunting for his own shoes.

Tony merely nods and quietly slips into the bathroom.

Steve grabs anything of importance he may need like his phone and his wallet, stashing it in his wool cardigan. He doesn’t have a TV to watch the news so he uses his battered laptop to check the weather. There’s a high chance for rain, but other than that, it should be nice out.

He spends the next moment browsing all the emails he received for the alerts he set for anything in relation to Hydra or the war overseas. There isn’t any communication from Bucky, which, okay, shouldn’t be surprising but makes him no less anxious. He knows his best friend will reach out when he has the time, when he’s allowed the luxury. He’d rather hear from Bucky over the phone or even via Skype, but he’d take anything he can get. He sighs and stops browsing the articles explaining how aggressive Hydra is being with taking over Lagos.

Steve is putting his laptop away as he debates whether or not he should bring his umbrella on their outing when Tony reappears, looking a bit more cheered and wearing his usual confident demeanor. Steve says, “So, I was thinking…”

Tony wanders over, eyeing his laptop with undisguised curiosity, and something else that Steve can’t work out. Eventually, he drags his cunning gaze over to Steve.

Steve always feels like he’s being metaphorically flayed alive under that look, and it’s enough to make him shiver but rumble with delight at the thought of holding his clever Omega’s attention. He clears his throat and goes a little pink when Tony raises a questioning brow at the sound. “I was, ah, thinking.”

Tony slowly smiles, and being on the other end of that makes Steve feel more like prey than anything else. “Yes,” he drawls patiently. “We have established you are capable of thought.”

Steve huffs and doesn’t fight the urge to tweak Tony’s nose. He lets Tony slap his hand away with a fussy sound that Steve wants to kiss him for. He doesn’t. He says, “Right, so I was thinking since you mentioned being no good with cleaning, we could start small. Maybe with the, ah, bed? Have you ever made a bed before?”

Tony’s face scrunches up in annoyance. “Well, _no_ but how hard can it be?”

Steve stands back and discovers that when it comes to Tony, the mechanics of making a bed is hard for him to fathom.

“It never stays!” Tony complains, face red as he tries to wrestle the sheet down on one corner. “What the fuck.”

Steve coughs over a laugh. “Language,” he mock-scolds.

Tony falls off the bed with a yelp and gives Steve the middle finger when he laughs at him for it. “God. This is just - can you help me? Please.”

“That’s all you had to say,” Steve murmurs as Tony reappears from the other side of the bed, on his knees, looking flushed and outraged. “The trick is to start at opposite corners…”

Tony drinks in every word as they go through the motions of making the bed together, eagerly following every command sent his way.

Steve can’t ever say he’s had this much fun since his Ma showed him how to do it properly when he was a kid. But there’s something special about being able to see the way Tony’s face lights up when they finish. He’s all smug and victorious.

“Like I said. Simple,” Tony brags with a smirk and ignores the flat look Steve sends his way. “So how often do we have to do that?”

“Every day.”

“Every…! You’re kidding.” Tony studies his face desperately and he deflates. “You’re not kidding.”

“If you want, we can rotate day by day.”

“No, that’s ... I mean that’s fine. I think I can handle this for ... maybe a week? Then we can switch?”

Steve gives a considering nod. “We can maybe talk about rotating certain chores later tonight.” He glances at his watch. “I don’t think we’re going to beat the two o’clock rush at the market. Are you okay with busy crowds?”

“Eh, I don’t have the most experience with it, but I’m sure I can manage. Never been to a store before. Jarvis usually did all the shopping and stuff.” Tony has a wistfully sad look on his face.

“Jarvis is a friend?” Steve carefully asks.

“No. Yes. No. Well - he kind of works for my parents, or he's contracted to our family. He’s been looking after all of us for as long as I can remember. But he’s not, uh, I don’t like to think of him as a butler.”

“So he’s like family?”

Tony stares at him, seeming at a loss for words. He looks a little worried. “Family?”

Steve's heart starts to crack open. “Yeah, Tony. When you have that kind of connection with someone that doesn’t feel like it’s just obligation, you can either call it friendship or family.”

Tony’s expression darkens. “Family isn’t ... it’s playing make-believe. But we all have units we’re born into. Everyone has a duty to their unit.”

Steve is appalled, not only by the words that Tony is obviously parroting from someone else but by the fact that he seems to believe it. “Tony, honey, listen to me. Family is not playing pretend, okay? It’s very much something real and fulfilling when you have it with the right people. It’s not always by blood too, there’s this ... have you ever heard of found family or family of choice?”

Tony shakes his head slowly.

“Well, as I said, it’s a connection you can have with people who aren’t related to you by blood or anything. But you still forge deep and meaningful bonds with them based on things like shared values, mutual care and support, understanding, unconditional love, and positive regard. I’m thinkin’ that’s what you have with this Jarvis fella.”

Tony’s brown eyes are dark with contemplation, even though his face is like a blank slate. He says, quite suddenly, “Can you excuse me for a minute?”

Steve nods, worried he’s upset Tony when he feels his side of the bond twist unhappily, vibrating with a sort of sorrow.

It’s fifteen minutes before Tony re-emerges with red eyes and Steve’s heart cracks open a little more.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, fingers twitching at his side with the urge to fold his distressed Omega in his arms. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Tony looks a little stern, and the sorrow passes to be replaced by annoyance. “You _didn’t._  Steve, no, listen, you really didn’t. I just ... I know you noticed that I have specific _ideals_ but, well, it’s my upbringing. I was raised to believe certain things, and sometimes you say these things and do these things that kind of unravel my worldview but I don’t hate it, okay? It’s a little overwhelming, and it’s going to take some adjusting to probably, but, I would let you know if you did anything upset me.”

“I made you cry,” Steve stubbornly mutters, his own eyes heating. “I made you cry and you -”

“Rogers, I swear to god if you don’t shut up,” Tony complains with a long-suffering sigh. “Alphas, honestly. Listen, it’s not _you._ And it’s rude to point out that I’ve been crying if I didn’t say anything about it. I kind of broke the cardinal rule of decorum by even crying in the first place.”

“It’s okay to cry.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Tony snaps but flinches and deflates. “Sorry. I did it again. Broke another rule. Not supposed to raise my voice. Definitely not to an Alpha. If I have brains, I don’t need volume. Geez, how do you get me to disregard my pedigree so quickly? Oh, Jesus, please stop looking at me like that. Ugh. No, this isn’t going right. We’re fighting now, and we don’t even need to be.”

“Fighting, sorry, no, correction,  _disagreements_  are a normal part of marriage. As long as we don’t scream at each other.”

“I wouldn’t dare. My mother would be appalled,” Tony drawls sarcastically. “No, listen, Steve, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. But you have to let me explain or we’re going to keep bumping heads about it. I don’t mind you trying to expand my worldview, that’s ... I would appreciate it actually. But you have to know that sometimes, it’s going to knock me off balance, because, like I said, I was raised with certain ideals. Decorum is everything to the Stark name. I can’t ... switch it on and off, no more than anyone can stop blinking, if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“So, yeah, you didn’t make me cry. I was ... I _am_ happy. I didn’t know that things could be like that. I didn't know I was allowed to think of Jarvis as family. He means so much to me and I -” Tony gets a little choked up and he blinks rapidly. “We have to change the subject or I will have to go back into the bathroom.”

“You can cry in front of me.”

“No,” Tony says hoarsely. “I really can’t.”

“Tony -”

“Steve, please. It’s ... I told you, I can’t. Not ... yet but, maybe one day. It’s ... I’ve always been taught that any display of - that emotions like that is shameful, indecent and indecorous behavior.”

Steve feels his hands curl into fists and no matter how many times he swallows, nothing makes the itch of anger go away. “Is this why you thought I would be mad at you for falling asleep on my shoulder? Or why you didn’t want to physically bond last night?”

Tony flushes all the way down to his toes. “Public displays of affection are barbaric and should only be done in the privacy of the home because that kind of contact is for procreation purposes only.”

“Christ, Tony.” Steve rubs at his face while Tony fidgets, unsure. “Don’t mean to be pushy,” he grits out and shifts on his feet. “I was raised with different values. I’m sorry you were led to believe - to believe that. But it’s not true. I don’t believe that, and there are a lot of people that don’t either.”

Tony shrugs, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

Steve takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Tony’s right. It’s going to take time to get through to Tony and help him unravel all the toxic bullshit he’s been fed all his life. He just can’t believe that there are people out there feeding this nonsense to their friends and family. He never thought much of high society because of their weird rituals, but he’s definitely losing any respect that he might have had.

For some reason, Steve finds himself asking, “How’s your Bite?”

Tony blanches but then he shrugs. “Aches a bit.”

“Yeah?” Steve can feel his heart racing as he continues, “Mine is actually unbearable. Do you ... could you help me with that?”

Tony seems surprised by the request, but better than that, he looks intrigued. “Sure, uh, what do I - what would you need me to do?”

“Just a quick Wash, if that’s okay,” Steve replies, amazed that he manages to keep his voice steady. He’s shaking with nerves. “But only if you want to. No pressure.”

“No that’s okay. I can do that,” Tony promises, hesitating for only a moment before he marches over like he’s on a mission. He carefully grabs Steve’s wrists and lifts the bandage to examine the mark. He makes all these sorts of thoughtful and curious sounds before he lowers his mouth to the wound, carefully running his tongue over the different grooves.

Steve thinks about the time he dared Bucky and Sam to lick every inch of the monkey bars back in middle school, and it does the trick of keeping him as flaccid as possible, but just barely.

Tony finishes and readjusts the bandage with a satisfied sound. “How was that?” he asks before stepping back, looking at Steve with eager eyes.

“Perfect,” Steve breathes, watching the way Tony licks his lips. “Could I - do you mind if I…?”

Tony blinks like it hadn’t even crossed his mind to ask Steve to return the favor. He kind of scrambles in the process of lifting his arm, going almost beet red when he nearly breaks Steve’s nose in his enthusiasm.

Steve just chuckles and carefully takes his arm, removing his bandage to examine his Bite. It’s red and irritated, which means that Tony was probably downplaying how much it was bothering him. He hates to think that his Omega has been in pain, which is why he kisses the mark, not missing the way Tony inhales sharply in surprise by the tenderness of the gesture.

Tony squirms when he delivers the first lick, and Steve tries not to smirk when the next firm lick he gives makes Tony’s knees buckle slightly. He glances up at Tony from underneath his eyelashes as he pointedly swirls his tongue.

Tony bites down on his bottom lip as his face takes on a more pink hue. “I - _oh_ \- I think it’s ... it’s better _, Jesus,_  fuck, Steve. Enough!”

Steve chuckles darkly but has mercy on him, putting the bandage back the way he found it. “Just making sure. Looked pretty swollen, honey.”

Tony’s flush deepens at the term of endearment and there’s no ignoring the way his side of the bond purrs wildly in the back of Steve’s mind.

Steve's nose twitches at the unmistakable scent of arousal wafting from Tony from between his thighs where he must be getting wet.

“Can you excuse me for a moment?” Tony squeaks suddenly and races to the bathroom.

Steve fans at himself, trying to cool down, wondering how he could have let things get so out of hand. He hadn’t meant to tease exactly, or push in that direction. It’s something about Tony that just temps it out of him, but he checks himself for it nevertheless. If Tony is as touch-starved as Steve believes he is, he needs to take things slow.

“So ... are we still going to the store?” Tony asks when he reappears, looking anxious but less flustered and turned on.

Right, they have things to do.

Steve takes a moment to calm down when his mind tries to wonder about what Tony does to fight against his own desires and says, “It’s a fifteen-minute walk. Are you okay with that?”

Tony nods eagerly, seeming as desperate for fresh air as much as Steve is. He quietly follows Steve out, watching him lock the door before following him over to the elevators.

Steve makes a mental note to try and get Tony a set of keys, if only to distract himself from the way Tony maintains a specific, polite distance to him while they exit the building.

He sighs and pretends he doesn’t want to hold Tony’s hand.

But he does. He really does.

Steve’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything more.

 


	3. YEAR 1: PART III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - should the next chapter be in Steve's POV or not? Let me know what ya'll think.

_Steve wants to see me cry,_ Tony thinks. _He wants to see me cry._

He knows if he said that out loud, it would seem like a not so nice thing. But to Tony, who had once suffered a broken jaw because he dared to shed a single tear at his grandmother's funeral when he was eight, it’s … comforting. He thinks the fact that Steve _wants_ to see him cry, that he doesn’t find that sort of intimacy improper, incredibly romantic for some reason. Although maybe that sort of thing should not surprise him because, after all, what does he really even know about romance to compare with what’s socially acceptable anyhow?

Well maybe besides those movies he and Jarvis used to sneak and watch together while he was growing up. Mostly during those many instances his parents left them to their own devices to either settle some business or invade (and conquer) every sunny-side beach and resort there is out there in the known world, armed with their choice of liquor. Jarvis has introduced him to a selection of romantic comedies from mostly the '80s and the ’90s, if only in hopes that Tony would be encouraged to aspire to seek such things for himself.

So yeah, maybe he has a sort of skewed view on what’s romantic that’s constantly at war with his breeding. And Steve doesn’t make things better by being so … so _respectful_ and patient. His gaze alone stirs such a conflict in Tony to do and say things that are incredibly contrary to the values he’d been taught growing up. He smiles as he thinks about how grossly appalled Howard and Maria and Uncle Obie would be if they could see him now, walking in his _casuals_ in public. In public!

God, this was the sort of thing he used to daydream about doing when he was holed up in Stark Tower like that one fairy tale about the Omega with golden hair long and strong enough to climb. He can’t think of what her name is exactly, but yeah, he kind of feels like he could have found a kindred spirit to that fictional character due to his upbringing. But now, well, now he’s free because he was headstrong and Steve was brave enough to see this crazy scheme through. The fact keeps running laps in his mind as they walk to the local supermarket.

The air is mild, perfect spring weather, which has attracted some heavy foot traffic. It’s not dense or congested like lower Manhattan can be around this time of day. Tony likes it.

He likes seeing kids playing and splashing around a busted fire hydrant. He likes when Steve steers him clear of it, nearly using his own body to shield Tony from even getting a drop of water on his shoes, the worrywart. He likes listening to Steve playfully scold those wet ‘delinquents’, teasing them for a moment, making idle threats about calling the ‘boys in blue’ to sort them out. The kids just clap their hands wetly in a show of playful rebellion, and stick out their tongues but refer to his Alpha by his last name with a tone of respect that’s extremely hard to miss.

He likes the way the bond flares with sparkling blues and reds. He’s not even sure if it’s supposed to be possible to _think_ in colors, but that’s what Steve’s side of the bond does while his Alpha is relaxing more and more into his element as they walk through the neighborhood. He likes that Steve will toss him these soft and considerate looks while he asks if Tony is okay, if he’s too hot, or if he’s thirsty, or if his feet hurt.

“I’m _fine,_ Steve,” Tony laughs while they stand at the crosswalk so Steve can look both ways, even though there is a stop sign _right_ there. “You keep asking about my feet and I’ll have no choice but to assume you have a fetish.”

Steve’s face twists up in such a way that Tony is laughing again. He’s grumbling, “Just makin’ sure is all. Ain’t a crime t' ask.”

“Mm, no, not as far as I know, but seriously, stop worrying so much,” Tony insists with a half-grin that Steve grudgingly returns. “I promise you’ll be to first know if even a muscle feels out of place.”

Steve merely grumbles again, but Tony can tell it’s all for show because the bond does that shimmering thing when Steve is content and happy.

Tony likes that Steve walks alongside him like they are equals and that he doesn’t force Tony to stay at least three paces behind him like Howard used to with him and his mother. He likes watching Steve address people by name, taking a few seconds to ask after them and theirs, introducing Tony in such an unassumingly sneaky way before pushing Tony along so they don’t get completely sidetracked by any nosy questions they may be pelted with after that introduction.

Tony doesn’t think Steve is ashamed of him or anything, but it seems more that Steve does things that way as an attempt to spare Tony from any unnecessary prying that might come along with informing most of the neighborhood of his new bonded status. Steve obviously is a well-known and friendly face in these parts, yet for Tony, he’s willing to keep all friendly conversation short so as to avoid making Tony endure the many microscopic and searching gazes of the general public. He’s making sure that Tony doesn’t _have_ to put on airs or play at someone he’s not, point blank.

Tony finds it intriguing and sweet. He feels like he should tell Steve he’s used to such things like that based solely on the many events and parties his parents either hosted or attended. But he feels like Steve would get all indignant on his behalf, triggering another emotionally awkward … ahem, disagreement like the one they had earlier. God, his cheeks just burn thinking about, not only that but how it had ended.

Feeling Steve’s tongue had been like the time Jarvis had snuck him his first piece of milk chocolate, like, when he didn't know something that had been persistently denied to him could be so wonderfully stupefying. Then Steve had to go and toss him that sly look while doing things with his tongue that were definitely illegal. And then he has the nerve to call Tony ‘honey’ and Tony, god, he doesn’t think he could have stopped the way all the blood in his body rushed either to his ears or to his cock.

He’d gotten _wet_ for fuck’s sake. Right then and there! And that had been absolutely mortifying because to be that turned on outside of his Heat Cycles was so unbelievably crude and improper. He hopes that Steve doesn’t think any less of him for it, he’ll have to work on controlling that. He doesn’t want to lose his Alpha’s respect so early in their marriage. He thinks he can smother any fantasies or desires until a time more befitting of such things (i.e. his Heat Cycles and only his Heat Cycles).

It’s what he’s been taught anyway. Omegas aren’t supposed to have express desires outside of their Time, of which, they can’t be blamed for how the surge of hormones affects their behavior. Tony always enjoys his Heat Cycles for those reasons alone, though he’s never spent them with anyone else, his parents had made sure of that, but it was the only time when he felt free to acknowledge his desires and take care of them. It makes him both nervous and a little giddy to think about how he and Steve will have to discuss the mechanics of his Heat sometime very soon. He doesn’t let himself linger on those thoughts, lest he wants to embarrass himself again, so he just turns his attention outward.

He absorbs as much as he can about the sites and everything around them, the kind of shops nearby, the structure of the buildings and the state of the streets and sidewalks. Again, it’s different than what he’s used to, which is watching things pass him by from inside of a limo or luxury car.

Tony likes to walk, or well, he thinks he _could_ the more he is allowed to do so, and he’s very keen on the idea of traveling outdoors on foot alone. He’s had his fill of planes, trains, and automobiles. It feels nice to just use his own two feet to get from point A to point B, letting the muggy city air fill his lungs with a warm, heady heaviness that kind of makes him want to curl up under a tree with a bunch of noisy birds for a lucid nap. His nose twitches and he kind of knows without knowing that it’s probably going to rain sometime soon. He says as much to Steve.

“Shit,” Steve mutters just as they begin navigating through the expansive parking lot of the gargantuan supermarket. “Yeah, saw somethin’ about that earlier. Forgot to bring my umbrella, and well, maybe we don’t worry about that just yet. I’ll get us a cab for the trip home if it comes down to it.”

“I wouldn’t mind walking in the rain.”

“Yeah?” Steve is pressing a warm, protective hand to the small of his back to signal for Tony to wait a moment as a nearby car starts reversing from between two parked cars. “Don’t think I would either if I didn’t think I’d get pneumonia for the trouble.”

Oh yeah. Tony feels stupid for forgetting that Steve mentioned something about his health problems. “Well, maybe we should save that for when we have ponchos and rain boots and an umbrella to avoid that kinda of trouble.”

When Steve is sure that the coast is clear, he gently steers Tony forward again while the Omega soaks up that bit of contact greedily. “Sounds like a plan,” he agrees with a half-smile that kind of makes Tony’s face heat up a little. “Really, Tony. Never thought to do it that way, but I’d like to try with you. Why don’t we keep our eyes out for the gear while we’re here?”

Tony wants to fold Steve in his arms and squeeze tight, but his upbringing has him merely nodding. They finally pass through the automatic sliding doors, a vacuum of cool air descending on them quickly. It’s an instant relief to Tony, but he doesn't miss the way that it makes Steve shiver a bit, even under the thick wool cardigan he’s wearing. There are these protective instincts that start to roar up in him at the sight, and suddenly all he wants to do is go hunting for the store’s temperature dials so he can manipulate them to levels Steve might appreciate.

Steve distracts him by asking if they should get a basket or a shopping cart, and then laughs at the way Tony is eyeing the shiny metal contraption on wheels with undisguised interest. “Ha - Tony, no, don’t climbin _that_ part. That’s for kids, and you’ll get stuck.” and before Tony can work himself into a pout, he adds, “But you can get in the front and I’ll push you around.”

Tony’s mind nearly short circuits. “Steve, please tell me if you’re joking because if you’re really giving me permission to do something so obnoxious -”

“I’m not giving you permission,” Steve chuckles, looking up at him with indulgent humor. “I’m offerin’ ya a better alternative to the one you’d been attempting. Got no say in anything else, really. You wanna ride shotgun in the cart or even in the basket, fine, but I’m not the one who’ll stop you. Though, it’ll be easier to push you around on wheels, if my advice can be considered.”

Tony wants desperately to kiss his ridiculously obliging Alpha. Then he flushes, thinking that the way Steve’s blue eyes get all sharp, focused and keen suddenly must mean that Tony isn’t doing a great job of masking his thoughts very well. He clears his throat quickly and opts to climb into the front of the cart to save face.

Steve, thankfully, doesn’t comment about it. He focuses on carefully reversing the cart and then steering it through the second set of automatic sliding doors.

Tony folds his legs into a pretzel under him as his hands curl around the front of the cart with a giddy grin. He winks at anyone that looks his way, whether in amusement or judgment, letting it all roll off his back like water to a duck. Starks had backbones made of iron, after all, or at least that’s what Howard always said, but mostly when he felt Tony was being too sensitive or soft-hearted.

He pushes it out of his mind and just enjoys the way Steve purposely veers sharply to the left towards the Personal Care department.

Tony jerks a bit and tightens his grip with a startled laugh, shooting Steve a look from over his shoulder. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did I?” Steve murmurs calmly with an all too innocent look on his face. “Not the best driver, I suppose.”

“Uh huh.” Tony faces forward, if only to keep Steve from seeing the goofy smile eating away at his mouth. “Lucky for you, I’m a good navigator. How’s your spatial memory?”

“Uncontested as far as I’m concerned.”

Tony’s smile shrinks into something devious. “Perfect, because I have a mental list of things I need and no idea where to find them.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll take you there.”

Tony does, delighting in the way that Steve takes him to and fro to retrieve all the personal items he references without question. He eventually becomes cramped, an avalanche of pillows and fleece blankets Steve insisted he picks out pressing into his back. He’s appreciative that Steve understands the nesting habits of an Omega; plus the Alpha would have eventually grown tired of having to fight Tony for his sheets every time Tony managed to beat him to bed to hog them.

“You sure, ah, like Spider-Man,” Steve mutters, watching Tony point to yet another Spider-Man themed item for his Alpha to grab.

Tony drums his fingers along the edge of the cart as he watches, cocking his head curiously at the way the bond writhes with green. He’s not sure what that color means. “Who doesn’t like a hero? Guy’s been out there, doing his thing, stepping up when no one else does, looking out for the little guy and gal or otherwise. I find it admirable. Plus I heard he’s an Omega. What’s not to like?”

The tense line of Steve’s shoulders suddenly relax. “Oh, he’s ... he’s an Omega?”

“Pretty sure, again, if rumor is to be believed,” Tony confirms and squirms. “I think I need to get out. Cart’s feeling a bit crowded now.”

And it was. That Spider-Man toothbrush and umbrella Tony had picked out was digging uncomfortably into his spine, so yeah, it was time for him to get out.

Steve is there in an instant, holding out his hands in offering, making sure Tony exits with all his limbs intact with that sweet, concerned furrow to his brow.

“Thanks, dear,” Tony quips, and pats Steve on the cheek in an obnoxiously haughty way.

Steve huffs and replies, “Gotta make sure my fella stays in one piece.” and he brings Tony’s knuckles up to his lips and brushes a faint kiss over them.

Tony gets a little tongue-tied at the unexpectedly tender gesture while his ears burn. “Cactus!” he squeaks, darting away like a nervous idiot to the section of household plants nearby. He takes a moment to press the hand Steve had kissed to his chest over his thrashing heart and tries to will it to calm. Eventually, the beat settles into a normal pace and he actually starts seriously eyeing the table of small potted plants.

Steve wanders over with the cart just in time to see Tony crouching down to be eye level with a pink cactus flower, cooing at it in such a way that Steve laughs at him a little for it.

“Oh look, Steve. It’s a _Mammillaria_ ,” Tony sighs in a lovelorn way.

“A mammary what now?”

Tony snorts and straightens. “A ruby ball cactus,” he clarifies. “Becomes a handsome little thing if you can take care of it properly, or at least according to the article I read. Always wanted one, but mother has allergies, so all we have at the Tower is fake plants. Not really the same, but…” He shrugs. Then he turns away. “Should we move on?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away. He takes the time to look at Tony evenly before down to the cactus then back again. “If you wanted, we could buy it.”

The thought had never even occurred to Tony. “But ... I don’t need it?”

Steve seems worried that Tony is as confused as he sounds. “Well, I mean, maybe technically speaking, no, but it’s a small thing. And look, ya seem t' know a lot about it, so you’d take care of it good and proper. You said you’ve always wanted one. Why don’t we get it?”

“Because I don’t need it,” Tony repeats since Steve is completely missing the point.

Steve has that disgruntled look about him again and his side of the bond starts vibrating with righteous indignation. “You think it’s a selfish thing to get something you don’t need, don't you?”

Tony sighs and fidgets since it’s looking like they are about to have another one of their ‘disagreements’ again. “You know, I’m guessing that anything I say won’t matter, because you’re going to buy that for me anyway, aren't you?”

Steve looks caught for a moment before he finally relaxes with a crooked smile. He does, indeed, grab the cactus and adds it to the cart. “Now what am I supposed t' say to that? You know me so well, Tony.”

Tony flattens out his expression, tsking as he crosses his arms and strolls away. He’s secretly thrumming in excitement. His Alpha is going to buy him a cactus. A cactus! He was born into wealth but he’s never felt so fortunate as he does now over such a small thing. But, god, it means so much to him, and Steve may never realize how much because Tony isn’t brave enough to confess it.

“So, you think we covered everything on this side? We could start looking at food,” Steve suggests when he manages to catch up to Tony with only a slight wheeze to his voice.

Tony slows his pace to give him an easier time of it. “Yeah, sure. I’ll eat anything you want to give me. Well, anything that’s not green.”

“You’ve said that before but I didn’t think you were being serious. What’s the disconnect there?”  

Tony should have figured they would end up having this conversation. He might as well get it over with. “Right. So that 'strict diet' I was mentioning? Yeah, well, I didn’t always have this great figure. I was, I guess you could say, a ‘husky child’. My parents thought it would be best if they saddled me with the best physical trainers and nutritionists money can buy since I was too young for plastic surgery.”

Steve looks so upset that his neck starts getting red.

Tony soldiers on regardless. “And they were the best. They put me on this sort of routine and pretty much cut out any habits they thought were too sedentary. Which was anything from controlling what food I ate, to measuring the portions I was given. I had this one nutritionist, right? Madam Vienna von Trapp. She wore black lipstick that made her look like a walking corpse and these green pantsuits that made her look like a _Wizard of Oz_ knock off. Anyway, she was obsessed with the color. She put me on this all liquid diet to start. She made this disgusting concoction. She called it a _Green Machine_. She made me drink it for every meal until I hit a certain benchmark. Well, it was almost six months before I reached it, and that was only because I’d become so nauseated by those drinks that I couldn’t keep them down.

“She let me start eating solids again after a while, but only fruits and vegetables that were, yup, you guessed it, green. Again, this went on until I hit the next benchmark. Lucky for me, it only took maybe three weeks to consistently keep everything down before it came back up again. After that, she seemed satisfied that I wouldn’t be tempted to overindulge in anything that would put the weight back on. Not if I wanted to endure her again, and let me tell you, that’s been quite the incentive for most of my life. And I’ve kept up with my regimens, and strict diet in fear of her return. So yeah, anything green is a bit triggering for me I guess you could say.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he sure looks it. “Christ, Tony, I am so sorry.”

Tony shrugs.

Steve clears his throat roughly, looking like he might start tearing up.

Tony’s hands twitch with the urge to reach out and hug him, tell him that it’s okay, that it’s not the worse thing he’s had to endure. But he’s got enough common sense to know that it wouldn’t do anything but make Steve want to find out what Tony means by that.

Steve’s face is sort of like a thunder cloud and his side of the bond is seething discontentedly.

Tony hates it, hates that he’s the cause of it. So he says, “Crabs.”

Steve startles out of his bad mood, blinking. “Pardon?”

Tony smiles. “Madam von Trapp had this tradition, you see, where she gave her students a sort of one hour hall pass where she’ll let you eat absolutely anything you want as a reward for successfully completing her program. You didn’t have to tell her what you wanted, no, that was for the cooks to know, but her presence during the whole affair was nonnegotiable. I’d been craving chicken nuggets so bad. Like really bad. There were even nights I dreamt about eating them and woke up chewing on my own pillow.”

Steve chuckles.

Tony shoots him a fond look before he can even help himself, and continues, “But you know what? I remembered she had this really, weird phobia of crabs that she never quite explained. I only found that out because my parents tried to take her to the most expensive seafood restaurant in all of New York, and she freaked when they brought a king crab to the table. She nearly stabbed the waiter with a butter knife. And well, with that information, it became clear what I had to do. So I told Jarvis to buy me a whole crate of them. Biggest ones New York had to offer. Told him he didn’t even have to bother to boil any of them. I needed them unharmed. The shriek Madam von Trapp gave when he came in the room with them was so comically loud that it caused any glass within reaching distance to shatter. She chewed my parents out about it. I was grounded for nearly a month, but Jarvis snuck me some ice cream that night and said I made him proud.”

Steve is full-on laughing now. He’s wiping an invisible tear away. “Must’ve been somethin' t' see. Sad I missed it.”

“Trust me, I’ll savor the memory enough for the both of us for the rest of my life,” Tony swears and steals the cart from him so he can ride it down the main aisle towards the food department, arms out like Kate Winslet in _Titanic_.

Steve has to apologize for him when Tony rams into a pyramid of carefully stacked boxes of saltine crackers that are on sale. He quickly ushers Tony away before the store manager can work themselves up into a tantrum.

The rest of the grocery shopping goes just fine, with Steve patiently following after Tony as he explores each aisle with great interest, explaining anything that Tony doesn’t understand. There's a lot of food that Tony doesn't recognize.

Tony mostly points to the things that he’s never tried before, and Steve grabs it without question and adds it along with everything else. When Tony asks him why he’s not getting anything, Steve just explains that the fridge and cabinets back at the apartment are already half full of the things he likes. He says he doesn’t need anything at the moment, and that this trip is mostly about Tony anyway.

It doesn’t escape Tony’s notice, however, the way Steve carefully counts the number of items they add, as well as the way he persuades Tony to grab the off-brand version of everything, swearing there’s not much difference outside of the price. Tony’s not an idiot. He understands that Steve isn’t wealthy, even though he hasn’t outright said yet, but Tony already knew, even before they bonded. He hadn’t cared, still doesn’t. He was born into riches but he’s never been as happy as he is now, with not a penny to his name.

Since Steve is an authority on his own finances, and with Tony suddenly inserting himself on that front, he figures diverting to Steve’s judgment is probably for the best. So he doesn’t argue the point of buying an off-brand, just keeps all these little pockets of advice for the future, for a day when he may have to do the shopping by himself if for whatever reason he can’t have Steve with him while he does it. He also makes a mental note to do a bit of exploring around the apartment when Steve is out to figure out the kind of products and things his Alpha likes for reference as well.

A sudden thought occurs to Tony. “Steve, we need like three calendars.”

Steve pauses in the middle of adding a gallon of soy milk and some cinnamon rolls in the cart. “Uh, I have one on my fridge already?”

“No, we need more. I … listen, I’m solely responsible for my Heat Cycles now, and I’m not the most responsible when it comes to keeping track of deadlines or what have you. My parents used to just send me away to an Omega Rehab where they'd do that stuff _for_ me. So, I think we should put a calendar in the bathroom somewhere, and then maybe on that nightstand by the bed.”

Steve is a little pink but he’s taking Tony’s words at face value with adorable sincerity. “If you think that would help, of course. I could also set reminders on my phone too.”

“Great. When I build myself one, I’ll do the same.”

“Build yourself … Tony, you don’t have a phone?”

“Thought it was obvious, but yeah. I’ve never had one, but I understand how it works. Trust me.”

“I do. But I could buy you one.”

“I know, but I’d rather start from scratch. It’ll give me something to do while you’re out in the world being a provider. It’ll make job hunting easier too since anywhere I apply will have a way to reach me. And I’m sure that you’ll like to be able to check in on me.”

Steve mumbles something that Tony can’t quite make out but then he’s saying, “I have a laptop you can use. It’s, ah, not much but, well, you’re free to it any time.”

Tony had already been planning on accosting the device ever since he’d seen it this morning. His mind was frothing at the chance of improving the tech, making it better, faster, more efficient. And he hadn’t even wanted to do it for his own amusement either like he usually would. No, he figured that since he hadn’t given Steve a dowry, he could at least juice Steve’s haggard tech as like an unspoken wedding present. Steve offering him unlimited access to the device was just the cherry on top of the ice cream.

“Thanks,” Tony finally says. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then he says, “But back to the original point: my Heat Cycles. We just missed my last one. I usually have them every third week of the month, and my IUD shortens them from a week to three days. The first day is just the pre-heat jitters, and I have to warn you, I get a bit moody. The second day is pretty much D-Day, pun intended. Third day is post-heat, and I’m a lot nicer for it if D-Day goes well enough. I get very cuddly.”

Steve clears his throat as his flush deepens. “That’s, ah, thanks for explaining. Would we need to get you anything that would help you? I’m sure my Ma wouldn’t mind if I stayed with her while you … while that’s going on.”

Tony stares at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You would leave?”

Steve frowns like he doesn’t understand why Tony would even ask. “Well, yeah. Your Time’s got nothin’ t' do with me. Why wouldn’t I give you privacy?”

“You’re my Alpha,” Tony slowly clarifies. “You have more rights to it than anyone else.”

Steve flushes again, but this time from annoyance not aimed at Tony per se. “If I ever meet your parents, I might ask for you to step outside. There are some, ah, not so nice things I really want to say to them.”

The desperate need to kiss Steve stupid surges up so violently in Tony that he’s not even sure what to do. His hands twitch and he takes a few calming breaths before he’s forced to excuse himself and find the nearest bathroom to get himself together. And he’s so focused on reigning in his emotions that he misses half of Steve’s perturbed ranting.

“- kinda person teaches their kid that they have t' give their body t' someone regardless of clear consent on the basis of their secondary gender alone? Nuts. Nuts and despicable is what it is and -”

“Steve, it’s … calm down for a moment. Let’s refocus,” Tony smiles, noticing the way his Alpha is garnering looks from people around them. “I appreciate you wanting to duke it out with my parents and fight the world for my honor, but I was hoping you would _want_ to help me with my Heat.”

Steve looks like he’s short-circuiting.

“I’ve spent them alone for long enough. I heard they get even easier if you have, you know, someone that can help you through it. That they can feel better, and I’ve never … but I’ve been curious about it. And now that I’m married, I guess I was hoping, you know, that it could be something I would get the chance to do, to try. If you … I mean, that’s if you wanted to? You don’t have to decide now. We have a couple of weeks before we have to make any plans.”

Steve nods wordlessly, slowly rebooting.

“And, um, if you wanted me to help with your Ruts, I wouldn’t say no,” Tony adds, a blush finally surfacing. He’s used to talking about his Time like it was just another clinical fact because that’s how it’s always been treated for most of his life. He’s very comfortable with the functioning of his Omega body, so he’s not ashamed to talk about his Heat. Talking about Steve’s Time, however, made him a little … well. “But that’s only if you wanted me to. If not, I can find a way to get lost.”

Steve clears his throat but his face is still bright red. “Let’s revisit this conversation when we’re not in public,” he finally says. “Gimme a moment, I’ll grab some more calendars.”

Tony nods and watches him nearly flee in the opposite direction. He spends a moment, waiting in the produce section, worrying that he’s made a misstep, that he was being too pushy, to wanton somehow.

But Steve returns and presents him with two different Spider-Man calendars like a peace offering with a twitchy, nervous but hopeful expression.

It’s not until Tony is flipping through both calendars does he realize why.

Steve has marked each second week of every month with his Time.

Tony glances at him sharply and Steve bravely meets the gaze with a pink hue to his face. It’s pretty obvious what he’s trying to communicate (read: that Steve's open to sharing their Time together) and Tony has no choice but to smile big and bright while he nods in turn.

Steve smiles shyly back, and that’s that.

When they get to the Seafood/Meat section, Steve does this thing where he explains the variety of meat in such an amusing way, making the sounds of the animals he’s citing under the mistaken assumption that Tony’s been deprived of such things.

Tony decides to let him and silently laughs because the Alpha is obnoxiously adorable and well meaning, which is why he isn’t offended over the assumption. No, he just ribs his husband a little by asking, “I’m sorry, could you just repeat that? You said it was a ... sheep?”

“Lamb,” Steve mildly corrects as he indicates to the meat. “You know, like _baa_ , _baa_.”

Tony clears his throat against the urge to laugh. “Could you just - one more time, please. What sound does this animal make?”

“ _Baa, baa_. _Baa_ … wait, you yankin’ my chain, ain’t ya.”

Tony’s shoulders are shaking with mirth as he presses a hand to cover his smile. He can’t even respond, too busy silently laughing.

“I’ve been explainin’ all this nonsense like an ass this whole time,” Steve reasons with a furrowed brow, slowing shifting his stance.

The hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up, and he barely manages to evade, with an unflattering snort, the first grab Steve tries to make for him. “Now, hold on!” he exclaims, standing on the opposite side of the cart as he matches Steve for step for step as he chases Tony around the cart. “I never said I hadn’t ever eaten meat! You just assumed!”

“Uh huh, just you wait until I get my hands on you,” Steve playfully threatens as Tony continues to dodge his grabs, giving chase when Tony books it in the opposite direction.

“Aw, _Lamb-Lamb_ , don’t be such a sourpuss!” Tony retorts and squeaks when Steve manages to corner him in the cereal aisle, tickling him with those long fingers of his until Tony is howling and drawing attention. He only lets up when Tony begs for mercy, face red and eyes a bit watery.

Steve has no trouble taking him by the hand and guiding him back to their cart while they are both still out of breath.

Tony has to say, as far as punishments go, he can’t say he’ll mind getting one over on Steve more often if that’s the response.

Steve implores him to pick whatever kind of meats he wants, and Tony just drags him to the frozen food section so he can grab a bag of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets and a box of waffles instead. Steve merely shakes his head fondly but smiles like he couldn’t be more proud of Tony’s choice.

If Tony’s heart beats erratically when Steve continues to hold his hand while they wait in one of the longest lines for checkout, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Besides, Steve’s side of the bond starts blooming with colors of rose golds and ivory whites, and Tony is never one to disrupt a good light show.

.

.

.

Steve hails them a cab home just like he said he would because it’s raining like a hurricane outside, and it’s better safe than sorry. The driver this time is a kind old woman who ignores when Tony and Steve assure her they could carry all their groceries in themselves without additional help. She also refuses any sort of tip that Steve tries to give her for all the trouble and leaves them to it.

Tony thinks its an incredible show of being good for the sake of good he never thought was an actual thing real people did. So far just Jarvis, Steve, and Spider-Man had been a prime example of that, but now the cab driver was added to his list of ‘morally upstanding’ people he’d encountered. He hopes the more time he spends out in the world, he can get the list to grow, and maybe even include himself on there someday. For now, he focuses on helping Steve unload the groceries and put them away.

Steve has this old record player that he utilizes for music as they work, and Tony is more of a heavy metal fan, but he can’t say it bothers him to listen to an eclectic selection of crooners from the forties. Besides it fits Steve’s personality so well that he’s into that sort of thing.

Tony is a futurist at heart, so it’s a little funny that he’s married to someone with such nostalgic habits. But with Steve, he can’t seem to mind at all.

When the groceries are successfully stashed and stored, Tony goes to put the rest of the personal items they bought for him away in the bathroom alongside Steve’s things. He takes a moment to use a thumbtack to pin one the calendars over the toilet after he carefully marks each month with his Time so neither of them are caught off guard by it (and will eventually do the same for all the calendars in the apartment).

By the time he returns to the main room, Steve has neatly arranged his pillows and blankets for him (he has even put Tony’s cactus on the window sill for him, and put one of the calendars on the nightstand).

“If you don’t like the left side, I can switch things around,” Steve offers, watching Tony’s reaction carefully. “I just figured since that’s the side you took to, maybe that’s your preference.”

“It is,” Tony says, and clears his throat, thinking he’ll never get used to how thoughtful his Alpha is, how much the older man pays attention to him. “Thank you.”

Steve waves it off with a half-smile before he gestures to his closet and his dressers. “Feel free to put your things away any way you like. I reorganized things so you could.”

Tony thanks him again and moves to unpack his bags, putting his things away as quickly and as neatly as he can.

By the time he finishes, Steve is sitting at the island counter with a leather-bound journal, chewing on a pencil, brow furrowed adorably in concentration as he punches a few numbers on a calculator.

When Steve feels the weight of his gaze, he spits out the pencil sheepishly and gestures him over with it.

Tony joins him, positive that they were finally going to have the ‘joint finances’ talk.

“So I was thinking,” Steve starts as he pushes his leather-bound journal over enough to rest between them. “We haven’t talked about my financial situation.”

“It’s okay,” Tony says before Steve can continue because he notices that the Alpha seems nervous. “You don’t have to worry about the fact that I grew up privileged. I can be reasoned with when it comes to that area, Steve. You’ll probably have to help me figure out some things. It’s an adjustment, but it’s not a hardship.”

Steve swallows dryly but he no longer looks like he’s agonizing over it. Then he dives into his annual income, what their living expenses will look like, and the different levels (and benefits) of staying within a budget. He also explains that he has emergency funds set aside for those times he’s too sick to work. He has this sort of calm and steadiness about him as he talks, and Tony notices that his side of the bond is shimmering contently in a way that makes him realize Steve enjoys making and executing plans/goals.

Tony was taught that when it came to the area of finances, it was supposed to be a responsibility for Omegas solely.

But Steve, who is a walking contradiction to what Tony thinks he knows about the way Alphas are, discusses the household costs with ease and enjoyment. He tops it all off by adding, “...and if you have any suggestions, or notice something that’s not right, I’m happy to hear what you have to say. I’ve been doing pretty okay on my own, but it’ll be nice to have an extra set of eyes.”

Tony can hardly believe he’s offering. “Yeah. I - yeah, that’s ... yeah.” He flushes at his own incoherence.

Steve just smiles but he doesn’t comment on it. “Great. Then I think it’ll be beneficial to add you on my account, and maybe open up your own so you can have somewhere to stash your money if you wind up getting a job.”

“You want to add me to your account _and_ let me have my own account?”

“I’m not _letting_ you do anything. It’s like I said, you’re your own person. I’m just reminding you of your options. And yeah. You should have your own in addition to sharing mine,” Steve repeats firmly like he’s not budging on the idea.

Tony presses his lips together to fight back a smile. When he thinks he’s managed to wrestle away the reaction, he replies, “Who do you bank with?”

Steve gets up and opens one of the kitchen drawers to rummage around before he shuts it and returns to his seat beside Tony and gives him a pamphlet.

Tony reads the whole thing in under ten minutes. He calmly puts it down and says, “My father owns this bank.”

Steve blinks in surprise. His mouth works for a moment before he manages to say, “We can move to a different one.”

It’s Tony’s turn to blink in surprise. “Why would you do that?”

“Why? You're really asking me _why_ I would when - Tony, you obviously are uncomfortable with the thought of us having our money in a place owned by your pops. What, I’m just supposed to ignore that? Fat chance.”

Tony can’t say if he’s more flattered that Steve’s willing to go through all that trouble for him, or that he says ‘our money’ without batting an eye, even though it’s most certainly just Steve’s money.

“We can research what the neighborhood has locally before deciding on something we both like,” Steve goes on to say. “Never much cared for that bank anyway. They charge some ridiculous overdraft and annual fees. Also the peppermints they keep on hand for customers taste like chalk. That right there should’ve clued me in.”

“Seriously, Steve, how are you real?”

Steve snorts with a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, that’s the kinda thing that happens when the sperm reaches the egg, Tony.”

Tony chokes on an incredulous laugh, but that’s pretty much that.

Steve excuses himself for a moment so he can go and retrieve his laptop. He returns with it and they do research a few banks that happen to be within walking distance. They manage to narrow it down to two options, which they decide to visit in person and talk with a rep before making a final decision.

Then Steve pushes his laptop over after pulling up the site for Omega Agency Reinstatement and leaves Tony to it.

Tony’s hands shake the whole time he fills out form after form after form eagerly while Steve’s draws quietly from where he’s sitting on the edge of their bed. He feels both mentally and emotionally exhausted by the time he sends everything off for the final review when he passes the initial assessment with flying colors. It’ll be a couple of weeks before all his new identification with his change of name and bonded status outlined arrives. Then he'll officially have his Agency back, and he'll be free to do as he pleases.

“You can take a nap if you want,” Steve says without looking up from his sketch.

Tony wonders if the bond is giving him away again as he rubs tiredly at his eyes.

“We don’t have t' leave for another hour or so,” Steve insists and finally looks up at him without pausing his pencil once.

Tony’s not sure if he’s trying to show off, but either way, he’s impressed. “I can shut my eyes for maybe five minutes.”

“You can take longer than that if you need,” Steve assures before dropping his gaze back to his drawing.

Tony can’t really see why he shouldn’t, so he kicks off his shoes, and crawls to his side, hugging a pillow to himself, rubbing his face against so he can properly scent-mark it until he drifts off. The next time he wakes, it's to Steve murmuring to him softly while he runs his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Hate to do this to you, but we’ve got to go if we want to make the next bus out to my Ma’s side of town.”

“M’wake,” Tony mumbles before closing his eyes and leaning into Steve's touch before he can rationalize why he shouldn't. “Getting up now. Yeah ... I’m putting on my shoes, and my coat, and I’m walking out the door.”

Steve makes the bed tremble slightly as he laughs quietly. “Tony, honey, you are literally falling back asleep.”

“Myth. We’re standing at the bus stop right now, waiting for our turn to climb on. And now we're on the bus, picking a seat. We're arguing about who gets to sit next to the window. You're a total softie so you're letting me. Now we're on our way.”

Steve’s response is to tickle him awake.

They manage to make it to the end of the block where the bus stop is just as it’s pulling up.

Tony makes the near miss up to Steve by challenging him to a game of ‘I Spy’ that lasts them throughout the whole trip. He doesn’t count his victories like he’s supposed to. He’s too busy keeping track of all the times he can get Steve to smile or laugh.

Those are more rewarding victories than anything else.

.

.

.

As they walk from the bus terminal and make their way to Steve’s childhood home, Steve takes the time to walk down memory lane, pointing out different stores or corners that bring to mind a specific event in his life that includes his best pals.

Tony is so charmed by his storytelling, that he finds himself wanting to meet Sam and Bucky.

Steve refers to them with nothing but fond affection. As they finally hit his old block, Steve’s in the middle of telling Tony about the time he and Sam put itching powder in Bucky’s roller-blades, when he wouldn’t stop using them to give Steve and Sam wet-willies. Then he gets all quiet and focused as they approach his childhood home, not even saying a single word as they stand outside the wired fence.

Tony watches the way different expressions dance on his Alpha’s face, not quite gloomy but something almost similar. He’s not sure if he likes it. “Steve?”

Steve blinks out of his thoughts and looks at him. “Yeah? Sorry. I just, I always forget how much I miss this house until I’m actually here, you know?”

Tony doesn’t really but he nods anyway.

“Come on,” Steve says and opens the gate for Tony to step through first before he follows him up the walkway, to the steps and finally to the front door. Then his blue eyes are twinkling as he gives Tony a half-grin. “Hit the bell for me, would you?”

Tony frowns suspiciously but he reaches out and presses the doorbell.

An electronic version of ‘Come Together’ begins to play throughout the entirety of the house.

Tony laughs in delighted surprise.

Steve’s smile widens. “Yeah, Ma’s the biggest Beatles fan you’ll ever meet. Our house is famous in the neighborhood because of that bell. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard it growin’ up.”

Tony presses it again while Steve chuckles. “Is it crazy that I want a house so I can do something like this? I mean this is…” He presses the button again, even though all he really wants to do is reverse engineer it, figure out what makes it tick. “This is ingenious.”

“ _And who's that standin so impatient at me door?_ ”

Tony startles and lets up on the bell, completely forgetting it’s original purpose is to _alert_ the homeowner of someone’s arrival.

A woman, who is nearly the spitting image of Steve, save for the thick mane of red and grey hair folded into an elegant braid intertwined with flowers, appears after the door is opened. She’s … she’s elegantly tall. Almost as tall as the doorway, and she’s obviously an Alpha, judging on the sharpness of her jaw and the size of her hands and the size of her bare feet. She’s wearing denim overalls under a kitchen apron with a blown up picture of Paul McCartney on it.

“Ahh my, well hello there.” She smiles widely at Tony, her accent dwindling little by little, as though she’s making an effort for a more commonplace inflection. “Ya mouhst be Tony. I’m Sarah, this one’s maker.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Tony replies, and hopes it doesn’t sound as rehearsed as it’s been in his head ever since Steve told him they would be coming this way. “I wanted to thank you for inviting Steve and I to dinner and -”

Sarah is suddenly reaching out and hugging him close. He doesn’t mean to stiffen up, but he does, mostly in surprise and wonder. No one has ever … he’s never had someone hug him before.

“Ma!” Steve exclaims with a scandalized tone, going pink and shooting Tony an apologetic look. “Ma, you shouldn’t - I’m so sorry, Tony, it’s my fault. I didn’t explain that - Ma, geez, let up, will ya? He ain’t used t' bein’ tactile.”

Tony snorts at the way Steve’s Brooklyn accent starts being drawn out more and more with his fretting. It’s enough to relax him in Sarah’s arms, though he makes no move to return it, not quite sure how the mechanics of this whole thing works. He can’t say he hates it since the older Alpha is nicely warm and smells like rosemary and mint.

Sarah lets him go after Steve insists for the seventh time and pats Tony fondly on the top of his head as she looks down at him with twinkling blue eyes. “We’ll make ‘im ah learned one yet,” she decides before leaning forward to kiss a disgruntled Steve on his cheek. “Yer just on time, then. Come, come. Food’s gettin’ sorted out.” Then she’s gone.

Steve blows out a breath. “Sorry about that. I should have said something to her. Or at least said something to you. We can be a bit touchy. It’s just a thing we do. But, ah, I know not everyone is like that.”

“It’s fine,” Tony assures because it really is. This whole time he’d been worried that Sarah would take one look at him and dismiss him entirely. It’s what he’s used to, and he was prepared to endure it. But now … well now he doesn’t know what to expect. “Is she an Alpha?”

“Another thing I probably should’ve mentioned. I’m awful at this, huh?” Steve’s tone suggests that he’s trying to make a joke of himself, but the furrow of his brow and his side of the bond communicates that he believes it.

“I wouldn’t say awful,” Tony corrects with a light grin because Steve is actually the very opposite of that word. “Absentminded maybe. Place her accent for me?”

“Ma’s from the old country. Farm in Limerick back in Ireland. Her and my pops fled to the States when my dad was still pregnant with me. Sort of a forbidden romance that you’ll have to remind me to tell you about later if you’re interested.”

Tony is definitely interested. He’s curious to know that story far more than he can admit. “Shouldn’t we go in?”

“Yeah, Ma’ll come back out to grab us and pull us in by our ears if we don’t.” Steve gestures for Tony to go before him and when they are both inside, he closes and locks the door behind him.

The sound of 'Hey Jude' is scattered throughout the house.

Tony's senses are immediately slammed with the enticing aroma of a home cooked meal and his stomach gurgles accordingly, reminding him that the last time he ate was at breakfast. He can hear a bubble of voices coming from the direction of the dining room, and he pauses just on the outside of the living room, in the foyer.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks when he nearly bumps into him.

“There’s a cluster of Omegas in your dining room,” he explains quietly and he’s not even exaggerating.

Those are definitely Omegas holding different trays of dessert, dressed in their Sunday best while their eyes anxiously scan for the first sign of Steve. There are no tears but they don’t look anywhere near happy.

Steve frowns and turns his gaze away from Tony’s face to see exactly what Tony is talking about. Then he flushes and closes his eyes as he mournfully mutters, “Specifically texted Ma not to tell anyone we were coming into the neighborhood.” He quickly shepherds Tony up the stairs and to what seems to be his old bedroom so they can hideout for a moment.

Tony wanders around the space to explore. Looks like young Steve is quite the baseball fan if the theme of his room is anything to go by. “So ... are we gonna talk about what that’s all about or do I have to guess?”

Steve sighs and rubs tiredly at his face as he sits on his old bed. “This may be hard to believe but I charmed a few hearts growing up and not that I think I’m special or anythin’ like that but I guess some of them never got over it.”

Tony laughs first in humor and then in jealousy. Then he has to laugh all over again because he’s goddamn _jealous_. “Stevie, are you trying to say that you’re a player?”

“No!” Steve exclaims, looking exasperated while he watches Tony pick up one of his old snow globes to shake. “It’s ... it was never anything like that. I just ... I was friendly, you know? Never turned anyone down if they were brave enough to ask. Then word got around, people talk, but the gossip was more inflating than it was demeaning. And after a while, a lot of people started to ask based on what others said. Up until college, I never said no.”

“How are you only just becoming bonded if you have such a ... following?” Tony amuses himself with his own wording, if only to distract himself from the unexpected bout of jealousy. He puts the snow globe back down before he’s tempted to throw it against the wall in frustration. He crosses his arms. “Seriously, Rogers. Spill.”

Steve furrows his brow. “There was ... there was only one person I really fell hard for. But it didn’t work out, on account of me loving her more than she loved me. Well, an infatuation is what she called it, but I’m less inclined to use that term, though I don’t argue with Peggy over it no more. Anyway, that’s in the past. We’re fine being friends, no bad blood despite it all. She’s got a kid that’s priority, and I’ve been ... well, I’ve been focusing on enlisting.”

“Right,” Tony mutters and can’t stop feeling pissed and jealous no matter how much he wishes to.

Steve hones in on every detail of his face as he goes on to say, “It also didn’t seem right to use someone else’s feelings to get what I want. That sort of power imbalance holds no appeal for me.”

Oh. Well, yeah, that clicks for Tony and he relaxes. “That’s ... more than any other Alpha would have done,” he supposes, embarrassed by his own attitude as he moves to sit down beside Steve at an acceptable distance.

“Trust me, I know,” Steve sounds and looks weary over this fact. “I’m sorry I didn’t ... that I wasn’t more clear about that.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, but I’m hoping you’ll forgive me just the same. Sometimes I can be a real mook, you know?” Steve juts his chin towards Tony. “Lucky I got someone like you to keep me honest.”

Tony smiles a little and wants to roll his eyes at how easy it is for Steve to elicit that response for him.

Steve grins happily, looking satisfied with himself before he grows serious. “If you want to leave, we can. You don’t have to deal with all that. Ma’ll understand.”

“Appreciate the thought but we’re already here.”

“If you’re sure. But if at any time you want to leave, say the word and we’re dust.”

Tony snorts but nods to acknowledge the point.

“S’alright if I hold your hand?”

Tony startles at that. “You ... what?”

Steve shrugs shyly as he stands and squares his shoulders. “Thought I’d make it clear to everyone that I’m off the market. It’s the only reason why they’re here. Ma must’ve said something about it. They don’t usually … it’s not normally like this when I come to visit. Honest.”

“I trust you,” Tony says while he stands and dries his sweating palm against his jeans before he bravely grabs Steve’s hand. He can feel his face heat up when Steve interlaces their fingers together.

“If this is uncomfortable for you -”

“It’s fine,” Tony insists, ignoring his first instinct, which would have him feel shame over engaging in such contact, let alone enjoying it. And he does enjoy the weight and warmth of Steve’s hand; he thinks he could get used to it if he let himself, but he couldn’t dare. “It’s fine.” He squeezes their fingers together encouragingly.

“Okay,” Steve says, watching his face for a moment before he gifts Tony with an emboldened half-smile. “Ready when you are.”


	4. YEAR 1: PART IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV kept talking to me :)

“I’m ready,” Tony says, and he means it, though he doesn’t know what to expect. He just knows that he wants to make a good impression tonight. Not for the sake of others, he could care less, but his main concern was Steve and Sarah. He's apart of their fam - _unit_ \- now. What he did, how he behaved, well, that affected them too. “I wish I brought flowers.”

Steve pauses as they exit his room. “How do you mean?”

“For your mother. I should have - I wasn’t thinking,” Tony tries to explain. Such a major detail to overlook. His mother would be appalled. “It’s rude to show up empty-handed,” he goes on to say, parroting his mother’s words exactly.

“In some instances, yes, but I wouldn’t have let you do anything like that without saying something,” Steve says with a little smirk that Tony doesn’t understand at all. “I, ah, actually didn’t say anything on purpose this time.”

Tony frowns. “Why?”

“Ma has this thing. She’s the type t' believe that the host is responsible for the comfort and care of her guests. So, anyone that shows up not empty-handed is … well, she finds it offensive, to say the least. She’ll take it as you saying that what she has on hand already isn’t enough.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, she’s funny that way. Everyone I’ve ever dated didn’t seem to understand, no matter how many times I explained,” Steve goes on to say. “But that’s also part of the reason why she was so quick to hug you. Showing up empty-handed was a better gift than any because you’re saying without words that you trust her to look after you while you’re in her territory.”

“Ah.” Tony’s starting to really get the picture, and he’s glad for husband’s foresight. Another kindness his parent's wouldn't have shown, preferring that he 'learn from his own mistakes without being babied'. He fixes Steve with an amused slanted-eye gaze. “Rogers ... did you do that because I was worried she wouldn’t like me?”

Steve laughs, looking caught, and Tony is so struck by how handsome he honestly is, that he nearly misses his next words. “I told you not to worry, _Rogers_."

Tony tries to send him a flat look for that but he's too busy trying to wrestle down a smile that wants to overtake his face at the adorably pointed reminder that they currently have that (read: a surname) in common.

Steve is suddenly giving him a knowing look in response, but he continues, "You never have to worry about messing things up with her. You have the best inside man there is when it comes to getting on Ma’s good side. You’ve got my last name, and that means something to me. We’re a team, and I gotta make sure we both win.”

Tony can feel his face heating up. “You don’t play fair, do you?”

“Anyone who assumes otherwise, well, it’s their fault if I prove the opposite to be true,” Steve agrees with a playful tone.

Tony snorts as Steve’s side of the bond blooms in shades of oranges, just like it does when Steve is teasing or tickling him. He’s starting to classify it as ‘the color Steve makes when he’s in a playful mood’. Then he says, “All those Omegas had something in their hands.”

“Rookie mistake. Ma’s gonna do that passive-aggressive thing she does when she’s offended,” Steve muses like he’s sharing a secret with Tony, and Tony's heartbeat twists in response to his good cheer. “Just you wait, she’s gonna give us the seats of honor at the table, serve us first, and then make the others serve themselves since ‘they obviously don’t need the help, what with them bringing dishes like they doubted she’d have enough t' go around in the first place, the pups’.”

Tony ugly laughs, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound because Steve had done this thing where he had made his voice go all high-pitched with an Irish brogue that was too obnoxious not to find funny.

In the end, Steve looks ridiculously pleased with himself and he squeezes Tony’s hand before he nods his head towards the stairs.

Tony gets himself under control and wordlessly lets Steve guide him to the steps so they can carefully descend together. He isn’t nervous anymore, now that Steve has made it clear that he has Tony’s back as long as he’s carrying Steve’s last name. They were a team, and Tony doesn’t know - _couldn’t_ say - when he had ever felt like he was a part of something meaningful.

While everyone idles in the living room until dinner is ready, Steve goes around the room and introduces Tony like he’s the luckiest guy in the world. Steve, with his nearly fading black eye, smiles in the face of every frown that greets that introduction, and the smile says ‘I dare you to say something rude’.

No one says anything rude. Not even vaguely, no matter how disappointed or heartbroken they seem when they keep glancing at the bandages that conceal their Bond Bites.

When Tony isn’t flushing over the smitten tone Steve takes on with that mischievous twinkle in his eye that he only let’s Tony see, his side of the bond sparkling with the deepest shades of orange, he’s busy marveling over the differences between all the Omegas. There were men and women of all heights and builds with surprisingly reputable careers: firefighters, lawyers, nurses, so on and so forth. But there was one similarity they shared that was hard for Tony to miss. They all had dark hair, dark eyes, and a sharp wit.

Steve has this - he has this type, it seems.

For some reason, that comforts Tony. Well maybe not for some reason, there’s definitely a reason that he would have to be hard pressed to admit. Which is this: Steve definitely finds him attractive, and that relaxes an insecurity he didn't even know he had.

Despite the initial awkwardness that each introduction brings for the other person, who is most assuredly here to confirm whether or not they still have a chance with Steve, they all are nice and polite, even without Steve’s warning stare. They take the time to ask after Tony, and ask about his schooling, seeming unfazed when he references his boarding schools or that he has a degree from MIT. Again, Steve appears to have a type, and that seems to include 'brainy'.

Though after the first time he brings up his education, Steve continues to watch him with this sort of reverential half-grin that makes Tony’s face go hot as he tries earnestly to follow the conversations the other Omegas engage him in (but that grin is so goddamn distracting).

Eventually heeded by Sarah, they all make the trek to the dining room, and Tony has to fight down a smile when Sarah, just like Steve had warned, fusses over the seating arrangement, putting Steve and Tony on either side of her at the head of the table (Steve to her left and Tony to her right). She even serves them first before putting the serving trays down for the others to grab and pass around themselves.

Steve gives him a look that he has to cough and cover his laugh for.

The other Omegas toss each other glances with a small smile, seeming used to Sarah’s volatile hosting mood before someone braves complimenting the Alpha’s food to get back in her good graces.

And it is good. The food, not Sarah's graces, well, yeah that was good too, but Tony's talking about the food which is really,  _really_ good.

It’s not something that Tony has had before: boiled corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes. He especially likes the cabbage, as surprising as that is. It’s the only thing he recognizes immediately on sight before anything else, though it isn’t raw, thankfully, and it’s distinctly lacking its greenish hue, which makes it easier for Tony to brave a try. He’s not disappointed for it, and Sarah looks pleased when he asks for seconds, and then thirds, which is a bonus.

The dining room is alive with conversation, mostly about the war overseas, which Tony finds interesting only because it’s a firm interest of Steve and Sarah’s, who share their opinions about the way things are with the most enthusiasm. The two Alphas are also considerate conversationalists, never once stepping on any toes, or speaking over anyone, or even monopolizing the flow, in spite of their secondary gender.

It’s amazing really.

So different from Tony’s experience during his parent’s dinner parties, where Omegas were shamed for even uttering a sound let alone giving their  _opinion_ during heated debates between the Alphas in the room - the policy being that Omegas should be seen and not heard. In fact, Sarah and Steve go out of their way to include Tony in the conversations, and whenever he falters while saying something or starts to lie low in each discussion while someone else speaks over him, Steve and Sarah simply wean him back into the chat.

It puts Tony in mind of the first night he and Steve met, when that waitress ignored him while he was talking to her and Steve called her out for it without thinking twice. Now having met his mother, it's clear who he's learned that mentality from.

Dinner ends and everyone packs up to leave with their well-wishes for Steve and Tony’s marriage, saying things about emotional prosperity, and substantial, ahem, fertility that makes them both go a bit pink.

It’s not until Sarah and Steve are clearing the table, insisting Tony don’t lift a finger when he offers, that Tony realizes that the three of them hadn’t had any of the desserts the others brought.

When Tony makes a comment about it, the two Alphas share this humored, secretive look before Sarah says she’s not much for _those types_ of sweets and that she’ll donate it to the Omega Shelter she runs.

Tony is almost certain he must be missing something, and it becomes clear why that is when all the lights suddenly go out and Steve and Sarah are carrying in a small cake with blue frosting and twenty-five lit candles on top while singing a foreign version of ‘happy birthday’ that he’s never heard before.

“Told Ma I felt bad that all we did for your birthday was get married and not much else,” Steve explains at the end of the song, the flickering candlelit dancing against his handsome features. “You gave me a gift that day. Thought I'd return the favor.”

"'appy birthday, Tony. Welcome to the family," Sarah says, her beautifully aged face mirroring the gentle smile her son is wearing.

Tony swallows and swallows, but it’s no use. “Can you excuse me for a minute?”

Sarah looks concerned but Steve places a hand on her shoulder before nodding at Tony in a way that makes him flee or he is going to lose it right then and there. He vaguely makes note of the direction Steve gives about where the guest bathroom is. He manages to locate it just as his vision goes blurry with tears.

They made him a cake. A _cake_.

Not just any cake. A birthday cake.

Tony presses his back to the door, sliding down it as he faces the sink. He sits on the cool tiled floor and hugs his legs to his chest while he drops his forehead to the top of his knees before he weeps. The kind gesture makes his heart ache and burst with a soft, sweeping delight he’s not familiar with. That’s twice now that he’s been moved to tears based on happiness alone, and not sorrow.

The sorrow he understands, it’s no stranger to him. But the pure joy from another person’s thoughtfulness had never been this strong, not even with Jarvis, who had always done his best to emotionally invest what he could into Tony when his parents refused to. He cries and cries until it’s not so overwhelming.

Then, as he’s splashing cold water on his face, he begins to giggle. And giggle. And giggle. He’s giddy now, thinking about how different his life is, just because he was stupid enough to insinuate himself in a brawl between two Alphas. God, maybe … maybe it was fate or destiny, but Tony is a little too afraid to actually let himself believe that.   

Tony straightens and fans his face so that he can get it to dry while he looks at himself in the eye with the help of the mirror above the sink. He barely recognizes the person he sees, simply because he’s wearing the expression of someone who is saturated in a good mood. He takes a deep breath, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he realizes how strange and abrupt his exit must have seemed to Sarah.

Tony hopes he hasn’t blown his good streak with her because of it. But when he returns, the candles are still lit, though the wax has burned down and is leaking onto the frosting, and both Sarah and Steve are waiting patiently with encouraging smiles.

Tony flushes but appreciates the fact that they aren’t asking any questions, though he’s sure his eyes are red and swollen from all his crying. He looks at the candles for a moment, familiar with this part at least since he’s seen enough movies, and read enough things to know what he’s expected to do. He closes his eyes, thinks about what he would like to wish for, and then blows out the candles, smiling when Sarah and Steve make a show of cheering.

“What did you wish for?” Steve asks as Sarah disappears to get them some plates and forks and a knife to cut the cake after she turns the lights back on.

“If I tell you, then it won’t come true,” Tony answers with a grin. In truth, he doesn’t really know if what he asked for can be considered a wish, but maybe more like a promise: which is to never be forced to go back to his old life.

“Fair enough,” Steve replies easily. “As long as the wish wasn't for the Yankees t' win the World Series, you and I are square.”

Tony snorts. “Looks like all that baseball memorabilia in your room wasn’t just for show. Good, you had me worried you weren't a baseball fan,” and he's being as sarcastic as possible when he says it, laughing at the flat look Steve gives him in response.

“Aye, ‘e’ll be draggin’ you to those games soon enooehgh,” Sarah chimes when she finally returns. She insists that Tony cuts the cake first before she tries her hand at it. “Mah little one and ‘is wee friends always wandered arooehnd, takin’ on the odd jobs no one would bahther wit so as t' save for a game or two.”

Steve’s wearing that half-grin that Tony has to admit is his favorite. “Taught me all I needed to know about having the right work ethic, and how much more rewarding things are when you earn them yourself,” he admits with a one-shouldered shrug.

Tony means to ask Steve what his team of choice is but he’s too busy groaning about the first bite of cake. It’s carrot flavored, and has a rich, sweet sort of cinnamon and ginger spice to it that makes his tongue tremble.

Steve looks charmingly indulgent as he patiently waits for Tony to resurface from his third slice of cake, grinning even wider with great affection when he makes a wordless gesture to Tony's face after he passes him a napkin.

Tony’s face burns when he realizes he has frosting all around his mouth like some kind of heathen. His mother would have burst into tears if she’d ever seen anything so harrowing.

But Sarah just watches him with a delighted expression while he vigorously rubs his mouth clean, and gives a laugh that nearly makes the room tremble. She says, leaning more into her Irish brogue with a warm tone, “Dahn't be shy, _mo mhuirnín_. I'll be takin that as cahmpliment due.”

“It’s really good,” Tony mumbles, even though his face is no closer to cooling down. “Never had carrot cake before.”

“Well look at that. 'appy to be the first,” Sarah promises as she pats the back of his hand amicably. “Steve, go get us a bit o' the dairy so we can wash it all down. In the basement.”

Steve nods and goes to do just that.

“There, then, that ought ta buy some time,” Sarah says, looking at Tony. “Mah son’s explained 'ow you two gaht in this situation. No worries, I dahn’t judge, but wooehld like to make a request.”

Tony nods as sincerely as possible, stomach twisting nervously, figuring this is the moment he gets 'the shovel talk'.

“That one’s been sickly all 'is life, and unlike mahst Alphas, 'e’s had to depend ahn the kindness o' strangers. It’s humbled 'im, given 'im a bit o' the perspective.” Sarah smiles sadly. “But no one gives 'im a chance to prove 'e’s as good o' a provider than anyone twice 'is size. I was hoping you might. You oehnderstand 'ow I mean?"

Tony nods and finds that he does understand, and he can see it. The first time he met Steve he had thought he was an Omega. He’s sure that this is a mistaken assumption that Steve has had to face for all of his life. He wonders if that’s why Steve’s past relationships never worked. Were the other Omegas too focused on taking care of him that they never gave him the chance to do the reverse?

Suddenly it brings to mind all the times Steve seemed genuinely happy when lending a helping hand to Tony, no matter the situation, always being sure that Tony understood it wasn’t about getting permission. He had sincerely just wanted to help.

Sarah leaves him to his thoughts while she starts digging into her own slice of cake.

Steve returns with a glass jug of milk, taking the time to pour Tony a cup first, then his own before he hands the jug over to his mother so she can help herself at her own leisure.

Tony quietly thanks him and watches the way Steve smiles in turn before he cuts himself a slice of cake, complimenting his mother in a way that gets her to laugh and wave a dismissive hand his way.

Then Tony finds himself watching the way Steve and Sarah interact with the kind of love and tenderness that was never shown in the Stark household. He’s a bit envious of it, but then when the two Alphas rope him into it as well, and the feeling flees, replaced by humbled appreciation.

They make him feel as if he’s, dare he even think to consider, well, like he’s … family.

Tony smiles at them both when they playfully argue over the last episode of something called  _Monsters Inside of Me_ , which Steve promises to introduce Tony to upon Sarah’s insistence. It’s just one of the many interests they share, Tony realizes.

His parents never took an interest in him or the things he liked. They never gave him much of an opportunity to try and figure that much out for himself either. Between the private tutors, and his time away at boarding school, and his online courses at MIT, there was never really any time. Jarvis would usually be the one that would sneak him comics, or let him hide out in the older Omega’s room to make use of his TV since Tony wasn’t allowed to have a TV, let alone watch anything that wasn’t beneficial to his learning and development.

Howard had made it clear that no kid of his was going to go philandering around like some sort of neanderthal. He had prided himself on Tony’s education, had loved to brag about it to his fellow peers. Howard had loved the benefits of having a gifted child, but was careful to remind Tony that, at the end of the day, the sole purpose of his genius was to further the career of the Alpha Howard would one day choose. It was one of the reasons why he gave Tony his own workshop, just so he could hold something over Tony if he misbehaved.

Tony had gone along with it, having no choice or no say in the matter, doing all he could to earn those few precious hours in his workshop, even if he was only allowed to do projects strictly related to the research and development of weapons. Tony was nearly ready to accept that things would be that way for the rest of his life.

But then his father had gone and tried to get him espoused to his own godfather, a man who was as cold and distant as Howard was, all for the sake of succession at Stark Industries. Tony knew, without a doubt, that his godfather would only breed him and steal all his ideas. He’d stolen a few ideas that Tony was naive enough to go to Obadiah with when he was still young and impressionable. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. Now he doesn’t share his ideas with anyone until they are fully formed and completed.

His godfather caught on real quick when he realized he could no longer monopolize Tony into telling him about his latest projects. The older man had gotten frustrated, and crueler in his dismissiveness, saying things that he knew had the ability to emotionally devastate Tony. And that was the life Howard had been trying to condemn him to.

Tony is almost sure that his godfather was the one that must have proposed the marriage to Howard in the first place. Howard, who drank and hit the bottle hard so much lately that he would have probably agreed to paint Stark Tower yellow if caught at the right level of drunkenness, didn't bother to ask Tony's opinion on the matter before he agreed on his behalf. His godfather was cunning, and dangerous in a way that only Tony seemed to recognize.

Tony’s glad for his daring the night before his birthday. He’d be making wedding plans with his mother right now, probably tasting different cakes for the first time, and each sample would probably only taste like ash in his mouth when he's forced to keep in mind it's for his wedding to his godfather. Thankfully that will never have to happen because he has Steve, he  _chose_ Steve. 

When Tony finds himself between Sarah and Steve, drying the dishes Steve washes before handing to him so he can hand it over to Sarah to put away, he thinks about how lucky he is that he gets to have this.

It’s scary because that means that if it’s taken away, well, it’s not that he’d be devastated or anything.

He’d be _shattered_.

.

.

.

Sarah insists on sending them home with leftovers, boxing up the cake on one end, and tonight’s dinner on the other. She gives Steve and Tony a kiss on the cheek, before paying the cab fare for the ride home, despite Steve’s initial protests.

“Wasn’t so bad, right?” Steve murmurs tiredly, blinking in an effort to stay awake.

Tony grins at the sight and files it away in the mental cabinet he keeps in his mind for Steve, organizing it under the tab labeled ‘adorable’. He replies, “Your mother is wonderful. She promised me baby pictures the next time we visit. I’m told you had a _Toy Story_ phase? I have never been gladder to understand a pop culture reference.”

Steve goes a little pink, groaning as he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes tiredly while his side of the bond goes a little yellow. Interesting. “Yeah, ah, I can tell she really likes you if she’s promising blackmail material. That’s more than anyone else got when I brought them to the house.”

Tony is almost deliriously pleased to know that, and the jealousy he experienced earlier is definitively inconsequential.

“Also, it wasn’t a phase. It was a lifestyle,” Steve goes on to say as he yawns, putting the containers with their food on Tony’s lap before he shuffles over to rest his head on the Omega’s shoulder. “This okay?”

Tony’s heart does that stupid skip thing it does when Steve is in close proximity and he tries to ignore it while he says, “Yes. Are you falling asleep?”

“Very much so,” Steve promises. “You’re the one that got off easy with a nap. My willpower is only so strong.”

“Oh, well. By all means,” Tony teases, despite his hammering heart. He likes the weight of Steve’s head on his shoulder, likes the blatant trust the other man is gifting him with by doing so, likes the daring of it. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

“Sounds good,” Steve murmurs and he’s out like a snuffed candle the next moment, the light of the street lamps gliding over him in such a way that makes him seem even more vulnerable and small.

Tony feels something possessive surge up in him again, something profoundly protective that makes him want to shield Steve from the rest of the world, from its cruelty. It gets him thinking about the war, about how eager Steve is to enlist.

Before he can talk himself out of it, after he manages to wake Steve when they make it back to their apartment complex and he guides him to the door so Steve can unlock it, he asks, “Did you always want to enlist, or are you doing it for your friend?”

“Little of both maybe,” Steve admits as he closes and locks the door behind them before taking the leftovers so he can put them away. “Bucky, Sam, and I have always been interested in some aspects of the military since the days we were Boy Scouts. We had this scout leader that was a retired WWII veteran. We all looked up to him and admired him. He taught us the values he learned, talked about the benefits of joining but made sure to outline the drawbacks as well. Said he didn’t need any of our parents gettin’ up in arms, accusing him of brainwashing us.”

Tony could see how it might seem that way.

“He was really transparent about it all, and me and Bucky and Sam just kind of took to it. We started small, of course, joining ROTC in middle school and then in high school as a way to try it on. We loved it, all three of us. Gave us a sense of purpose, of pride, of nationalism,” Steve goes on to say as they linger in the kitchen and he makes them both a cup of hot cocoa while his space heater slowly warms up the chilly studio apartment. “After we graduated, Sam went and joined the National Guard and then the Air Force, where he met his husband Riley, funny story, remind me to tell you later. And Bucky and I tried for the Army. Bucky got in, no problem, being a Beta and all. Me, not so much, but it’s never stopped me from trying, especially with this war Hydra has brewing overseas. Guess you can say that I try so hard to enlist because it gives me a sense of self to be able to fight for those who can’t for themselves.”

Tony takes that in before he asks, “Do they deny you just on the basis of your bonding status?”

“Ah, well.” Steve looks a little disgruntled and embarrassed and Tony finds that he would almost give anything to make it go away. “By all rights, and the look of things, I’m not the best example of what a perfect soldier looks like. They _have_  made vague comments about my medical records, and my capacity to serve. But they never outright said that’s why they were denying me, just always brought it back to the bonding status.”

“You think they’ll let you join when we make it through this first year?” Tony asks between sips of his cocoa. There’s a selfish part of him that is kind of hoping maybe Steve might change his mind. There’s so much danger in war, and the more he gets to know Steve, the less he likes the thought of him being deployed. He wouldn’t dare say so or try to stop him since Steve appears absolutely sure it’s something he wants to do. “What if they still deny you?”

Steve’s brow furrows thoughtfully at the question, and he takes the time to drain the rest of his drink before he puts his mug in the sink. “Best case scenario is that the war will have ended by then and they don’t need me. Worst case is that they do, and still won’t let me. I can’t … I try not to think too much about the 'what if's'. As long as I have a chance to join, even if it’s a small one, I’ll take it.”

Tony worries his bottom lip for a moment before he adds his empty mug in the sink alongside Steve’s. Then he turns to face Steve, who’s giving him his undivided attention. “If anything, I hope it all works out the way that it’s supposed to. And I wouldn’t get all hung up on being a perfect soldier. You’re a good man, Steve. They would be fools to overlook that.”

Steve’s eyes are dark and unreadable. Then he says, “I’d like to hug you, if that’s alright?”

Tony definitely didn’t expect him to say that but he nods slowly before he can talk himself out of it.

Steve steps forward and folds him in his arms, hooking his chin over Tony’s left shoulder. “Thank you,” he says quietly, tightening his arms from where he has them around Tony’s midsection. “I think you’re pretty special too.”

“I have my moments,” Tony manages to say, despite how hot and itchy the back of his neck feels with a new blush. He squeezes Steve back and hides his face in the smaller man’s shoulder.

If they stand in the kitchen, hiding their grins from each other like total doofs for nearly fifteen minutes, well, that’s no one’s business but their own.

Eventually, they separate, if only to start their nightly routines.

Tony gets first dibs on taking a shower while Steve gets dressed in the main room, and promises to find them something worthwhile to watch before they go to bed.

When they swap rooms, Tony stays out in the main room to dry off and slip into his sleepwear while Steve monopolizes the bathroom. He notices that Steve is keeping the bathroom door open while he brushes his teeth, and he decides to take his chances by joining him.

Steve smiles at his reflection encouragingly before offering some toothpaste.

Tony thinks maybe he shouldn’t find brushing his teeth with another person so intimate or calming, but he does, and he likes it. He thinks that if Steve is letting him get away with invading his space like this, maybe he should keep taking advantage.

“What’s that?” Steve asks curiously while he flosses.

Tony is putting his toothbrush in the holder alongside Steve’s when he grabs the small jar from his basket under the sink. “It’s a red clay mask. Helps me wind down,” he explains with a self-conscious shrug. “I’m pretty acne prone, so I try to, you know, do what I can to limit the number of breakouts I have. Gets worse the closer I get to my Heat Cycles because of the hormones or whatever, but it’s almost unbearable if I’m not actively trying to do what I can before then.”

“You have nice skin, it’s obvious you take care of it,” Steve compliments. “You mind if I have some?”

Tony blinks because he thought Steve would make fun of his vanity like most Alphas would but, again, he does the exact opposite. “You want … you would use some?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I do pretty okay with my skin, but just because I might not absolutely need it, doesn’t mean I should pass on the experience. Here, hand it over. Tell me where I should put it.”

Tony smiles, handing it over, and then laughs when Steve manages to make a mess of himself. Tony's mask is more polished due to years of practice, but Steve’s mask is a Frankenstein's monster of a thing. He looks like he just threw a handful against the wall and tried to rub it off with his own face.

“Smells like roses,” Steve comments, spitting when some of it gets in his mouth. “How do I look?”

“Well, you, uh…” Tony has to pause and clear his throat against the need to laugh. “You still look like ... you underneath it all?”

Steve snorts and then looks at his reflection. Then he shrugs with a chuckle. “Practice makes practical. How long do we have to keep this gunk on?”

“I usually wait until it’s dry. That could be anywhere from ten minutes to fifteen.”

“Huh. No kidding.” Steve drums his fingers against the edge of the sink. Then he says, “You know, earlier, with the cake, I, ah, was wondering something. Had you ever done anything like that before?”

Tony flips the lid to the toilet seat down so he can sit on top with a sigh. Not exactly the kind of conversation he wanted to have, but he knows Steve means well. “My dad has this thing about birthdays. He thinks it’s … he figures that no one had a say or hand in being born, so why celebrate it that way? If anything, it’s the parents that deserve the recognition. So, my birthday has never been my birthday. My parents were the ones that got to turn it into a grand affair for themselves, you know, like a pat on the back.”

Steve has that look about him again, and his side of the bond is twisting with righteous indignation. “They took your birthday from you?”

Tony shrugs. “They’d argue it was never mine to begin with,” he replies. “I mean, it wasn’t all bad. Jarvis and I would sometimes sneak and celebrate it the night before. He couldn’t … he’d give me muffins or a donut or something because he wasn’t allowed to bake me anything, or buy candles because it would be too telling and there’s no knowing what my father would have done if he found out. So we would just … we would do it that way.”

“Suddenly you celebrating your own birthday the night before and not mentioning anything about it the day of is making a lot of sense,” Steve responds, looking more and more pissed as he sits down on the edge of the tub. “That’s so needlessly cruel. Your birth is the beginning of your life, and each time you’re lucky enough to make it to the next is enough of a reason to celebrate in and of itself. What kinda person -” He stops suddenly and mutters a few swear words to himself before he sighs. “Birthdays are supposed to be a way for you to acknowledge your own existence. It’s a great time to reflect on the past, evaluate your present and make plans for your future. Your parents chose to have you. You didn’t get any say in that, and for them to rob you of your special day is … it’s downright wicked is what it is. You’re not someone’s burden, Tony. I will spend the rest of my life if I have to, to prove that to you.”

Tony inhales suddenly at the promise and he feels a familiar heat building behind his eyes. He looks away quickly and tries to blink past it while his throat closes up with emotion. When he thinks he has a good grip on it, he turns back to Steve, and says, “Thank you.”

“Please don’t,” Steve begs in a hoarse voice as his own eyes begin to water. “I’m not the one that needs to be appreciated.”

Tony thinks he could argue that point by referencing all Steve’s past relationships, but he doesn’t think he has the right to it yet, so he says nothing.

They drift into a companionable silence, both of them lost to their own thoughts before Tony announces that they should probably rinse their masks off now. It’s worth seeing how it puts Steve in better spirits, complimenting the brightness of his own skin as well as Tony’s in such an obnoxious way that it forces Tony to laugh.

When they finally exit, Steve goes through great lengths to light different candles from where they have been placed, explaining that he prefers using candlelight to offset the expense of keeping the lights on.

Tony understands that well enough, but that doesn’t stop him from thinking about how romantic the lighting makes everything seem.

Steve obviously isn’t aware of it because he climbs into his side of the bed with his laptop and doesn’t address it.

Tony thinks maybe he’s being silly and puts it out of his mind as he hugs his pillow tight and wraps himself up like a burrito with all his blankets while Steve puts the laptop at the head of the bed between them.

“This is one of my favorite movies,” Steve explains while he puts on _It’s a Wonderful Life_. “Have you seen it?”

Tony shakes his head.

“You’re lucky then. Wish I could experience it for the first time again,” Steve comments and it’s just like him to say something sweet instead of mocking. “If we’re still awake by the end of it, we can put on one of your favorites. Got nowhere to be tomorrow, so…” He shrugs and presses play.

The movie is in black and white, and while Tony can’t say it’s something he’s a fan of, he enjoys it nonetheless. Especially the parts Steve seems to know by heart. Tony has caught him mouthing the words along with the actors more times than he can count. It’s cute.

Then there’s this scene. This scene that really gets to Tony.

“ _What do you want, Mary? Do you want the moon? If you want it, I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down for you,_ ” Steve mouths along with George Bailey. “ _Hey! That’s a pretty good idea! I’ll give you the moon, Mary_.”

Tony can’t take his eyes off of Steve while he does it.

Steve is grinning like a loon at the end of the sentence, staring at the screen with pink cheeks but a fondly wonder-struck gaze that makes Tony wish he was looking at him instead.

Suddenly that thought becomes a little too much.

“Can you pause it, please? I have to - I need to be excused.” Tony’s wrestling himself free, almost frantically before he high tails it to the bathroom. With his back against the closed door, he presses a shaky hand to his frantic heartbeat, closing his eyes as the first set of tears roll down his red cheeks.

It’s the combination of the candles, and the way Steve had looked when he quoted George Bailey that’s got him so off-kilter. Because for that brief moment while Steve had been doing it, and looking the way he had as he did, made Tony fantasize about what it would be like if Steve had said those words to him. The reality of how much he wanted that is what made him flee.

He’s ashamed. Not only of his own desires, but of his greediness, and the impulse of wanting more from Steve than what was initially offered. He has to remind himself that this is a marriage of convenience, that Steve could never feel that way about him. But god, even in the short time that he’s known the Alpha, he can’t help but want more. He tries to put it out of his head and fix his face into something more neutral before he braves returning to Steve’s side.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, face and voice full of concern. “We can put something else on if this is upsetting you.”

“No, I - I really like it,” Tony mumbles as he goes through the motion of wrapping himself into a burrito with his blankets, swaddling himself in an effort to comfort his Omega instincts.

Steve watches him for a moment, long enough for Tony’s cheeks to go red under that searching gaze. He looks like he wants to say something but he just gives Tony a small smile before he gets up for a moment. He reappears with a bottle of red wine. “Bucky and Sam got this for me when I first moved into this place as a housewarming gift. Never had a reason to really break it out. Interested?”

Tony nods quickly and accepts the half glass passed his way, downing it immediately and sighing at the warm burn before grinning sheepishly at the look Steve gives him.

“Not judging,” Steve assures with a fond grin. “Just impressed. You want more?”

Tony nods shyly and Steve pours him some more without question before sipping slowly on his while he presses play again.

Tony is grateful for how pleasantly buzzed the wine makes him feel, putting him just on the other side of tipsy. He’s no stranger to wine since Howard made it practically mandatory at every dinner they managed to have together, though he never let Tony have more than a full glass. Tony’s aware of his limits, which is why he doesn’t push for more after he finishes his second glass, handing it over so that Steve can put their glasses in the sink and put the wine away.

Steve seems a bit tipsy himself, grinning at Tony with slightly pink cheeks when he returns to bed so they can resume the film.

They finish the movie without any other emotional hiccups on Tony’s part. They spend a few moments discussing the film a little more as the credits roll, mostly with Steve fielding all of Tony’s questions with an indulgent smile.

When Tony runs out of plot holes to complain about, he has Steve put on _Never Been Kissed_ since he promised that they could watch Tony’s favorite movie next if they were still awake.

Steve seems curious enough, explaining that he’s never seen the movie before, but looking no less interested.

They watch it together in silence, and Tony tries to hide his grin in his pillow on the scene when Josie Geller is saying, “ _That thing. That moment when you kiss someone, and everything around you becomes hazy, and the only thing in focus is you and this person, and you realize that that person is the only person that you're supposed to kiss for the rest of your life._ ”

Steve glances at him and it’s enough to make Tony burrow deeper into his covers.

Tony isn’t sure what his face is doing but Steve continually glances his way throughout the entirety of the movie, and his side of the bond shimmers with a dusty pink.

It’s not until the credits roll, does Steve speak his mind. “You don’t have to answer this, but … have you ever kissed anyone before?”

Tony pulls the covers completely over his head. “Goodnight.”

Steve’s laughingly trying to pry the covers away. “Hey, no, come on, honey, I’m not teasing. I just thought, well, with the way you were looking at this movie, I mean, it’s nothing t' be ashamed of.”

Tony scowls up at Steve with a red face when Steve manages to wrench Tony's covers free from his grip. The Alpha is definitely stronger than he looks. “No, okay? I’ve never kissed anyone. And not because I’ve never wanted to, but my parents never gave me much wiggle room to try and - and do _that_ with someone. And like I said, I know what my face looks like, but there’s never been anyone who was willing to risk the chance to give me that either once I opened my big mouth.”

“None of them were probably deserving of it,” Steve says with his serious face, and his side of the bond bleeds with reds and greens.

Tony just looks up at him and shrugs.

“You’re beautiful, Tony, but you’re much more than that. I wish … if things had been different, if I had met you in another life, I think I would have absolutely taken the time to court you and show you I was deserving of your first kiss.”

“Steve, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re drunk,” Tony complains as his heart picks up speed.

“Had less than you did,” Steve points out but doesn't outright deny it. “Can I kiss you?”

Tony gawks, looking gobsmacked. “What … why would you want to?"

"It's you, so I'd really like to."

"You don't know what you're saying. I don’t need pity.”

“Not pity,” Steve insists calmly, looking at him like a man on a mission, and his side of the bond becomes more of a vibrant red, like the healthiest hue of a rose. “You’re beautiful, but more than that, you’re delightful to be around. You remind me to take joy in all the little things that I take for granted. Like the rain, or grocery shopping, or even cheeseburgers.”

Tony can feel his mouth twitching towards an amused smile because Steve is definitely tipsy but he tries to resist the urge, however, there’s nothing to be done about the butterflies going insane in his stomach.

Steve still seems to pick up on it because he’s grinning down at him. “I want to kiss you, Tony. But even more than that, I’m selfish enough to want to be your first. If it’s something you want to try, I want to give it to you. I want you to be able to ask for whatever you need, whatever you want.”

“Who says I want or _need_ you to kiss me?” Tony fires back with red cheeks, but at this point, he’s being childish.

Steve just looks even more amused if anything, and a little benevolent. “Well, I’m your husband. I was kinda hoping, I guess.”

Tony swats him with a pillow, but the butterflies stubbornly remain.

Steve laughs and ducks back when Tony tries for another swing. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave it alone. But I just want you to know that the offer will always be there. I won't be … I’m not going to be upset if you don’t want to. Or if that’s something you’d like to try with someone else. Just … just let me know beforehand, alright?”

“I’m not going to go around kissing people, Steve,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes but he can’t help but smile affectionately at his Alpha.

“Well if you’re not gonna kiss me, you shouldn’t look at me like that,” Steve complains playfully as he settles down on his side, moving to put his laptop on the nightstand beside him. “That specific smile kinda makes a guy want t' lasso the moon for you.”

Tony turns so his back is facing Steve, and he hides his grin into the pillow he’s hugging. He still doesn’t quite believe it’s not the wine making Steve so bold, and making him say … things like _that_. He thinks that if Steve brings it up again in the morning, if he asks again and really means it…

Tony might not say no.

.

.

.

That night, Tony dreams about his past, about the very moment his relationship with his father only complicates once it’s discovered and confirmed by several of the world’s best specialists that, yes, he is an Omega. His father hadn’t let up after the first three sat them all down only to explain what the previous physicians had said.

Howard hadn’t wanted to accept it, and his mother has stood idly by as Howard ranted his way from doctor to doctor about how no one seemed qualified enough to accurately diagnose his six-year-old son.

It’s not until his father has a team of his lawyers force everyone in each hospital to sign a non-disclosure agreement that his deepest fear is confirmed.

Howard is ashamed of him.

Tony wakes up shaking, cheeks streaked with tears, the windows glowing faintly with the oncoming dawn. Jarvis’s name is sitting on the edge of his tongue before he remembers where he is and he quickly looks to the right.

Steve is thankfully still blissfully asleep and unaware.

Tony nearly falls out of bed and trips over his covers in his haste to flee to the bathroom. When he gets there, he curls up in the tub in shame. He hugs his legs to his chest and whimpers, shaking and trembling with nothing but the steady flow of his tears to keep him warm.

He falls asleep that way.

.

.

.

Tony wakes to an aching wrist and the sight of his cactus sitting on the edge of the tub with a sticky note that reads:

_I know you’re not ready to let me see you cry or even tell me about your bad dreams, but that doesn’t mean you have to be alone. Thought maybe you might want to practice with this little guy first. You got a name for him yet?_

_\- Steve_

_P.S._

_Chicken nuggets for breakfast? No one would know but us._

Tony laughs wetly, crushing the note to his chest as his mouth stretches into a smile that almost hurts. His nightmare seems to be almost in another universe at that moment.

He spends a few seconds debating with himself before he balances the tiny cactus on his knee. He talks quietly to it, sharing his woes while he thinks of names for it on the back end of his mind. When he’s got it all out, he stands and takes the time to go through his morning routine while Steve’s side of the bond shimmers calmly with light blue.

By the time he’s brave enough to exit the bathroom with his cactus, which he has decided to name Drew, Steve is in the kitchen, arguing quite colorfully with the coffee machine. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Steve's scowl disappears, only to be replaced by something more sheepish. “Darn thing keeps givin’ me a hard time. It was workin’ just fine the other day, don’t get what the damage is,” he explains. He glances down at the cactus in Tony’s hand and smiles a little. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Tony says shortly and shifts shyly on his feet. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Tony rubs at his nose for a moment before he says, “I decided to call him Drew.”

“I like it.”

Tony smiles and Steve’s side of the bond does this thing where it bursts in colors of pinks and reds. He doesn’t know what emotion that’s supposed to relay, but he makes a mental note to scour the internet later to see if he can find some answers there.

“So, is that a yes to the chicken nuggets idea?”

Tony laughs before he can control the reaction and nods. “If it’s between us, I’d love to,” he promises. “I’ll take a look at the machine and try to see if I can work out why it’s misbehaving.”

“Would you? That would be incredible, thanks.” and Steve honest to god sounds so outlandishly relieved, not like he's mocking Tony for the offer.

Tony returns Drew to his original spot on the window sill before he treks back to the kitchen where Steve is rooting through his cabinets for one of those metal nonstick baking trays. He finds himself watching the way Steve’s shoulders work as he does it, and has to quickly turn away when Steve is close to catching him do it. The tips of his ears are little hot and he tries to distract himself by asking Steve if he has a toolbox.

Steve directs him to the bottom of the kitchen sink where there is indeed a toolbox that has mostly unused tools outside of the screwdriver and wrench.

Tony takes the toolbox in hand and puts the coffee machine under his other arm before setting everything down on the island counter. He gets to work dissembling the coffee machine with impressive quickness while Steve unearths the bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets from the freezer.

Steve preheats the oven and uses a small corner of the counter to put as many nuggets as possible on the tray. Then he moves to Tony’s side to watch him work. “Wow, you really know what you’re doing, huh? I barely had a clue about where the coffee was supposed t' go once upon a time.”

Tony snorts and glances at him with a grin. “If you don’t drink coffee, why do you even have this?”

“For you,” Steve admits and goes a little pink when Tony raises an eyebrow in question. “I know it’s not much. I’m sure you’re used to better, but you said something about really liking coffee the first night we met, and I figured that if I couldn’t, ah, get you a wedding ring just yet, this might be the next best thing.”

Tony is floored. The butterflies have returned with a vengeance and they are out for blood. “You … Steve, is this my _wedding present?_ ”

Steve nods as the blush on his face begins to spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down the sides of his neck.

Tony really wants to kiss him. He wants to so bad and yet he doesn’t even know how to begin to ask for it. But the need to is so dizzying, he doesn’t think he can ignore it now. He calmly sets down the screwdriver, and says, “Last night, when you - when we were talking about - did you still want to - uh.”

Steve looks confused and suddenly Tony is sick with the thought that he’s completely misread things, that it _had_ been the wine talking. But then Steve’s expression clears and he grins while his blue eyes get all keen. “You want to kiss me,” he realizes, looking overly delighted and pleased. “You want to kiss me because I bought you a coffee machine.”

“Well, yeah, but now you’re making me rethink things,” Tony grumbles and sends him an annoyed look.

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m not making fun of you,” Steve promises but that goofy grin is still on his face and his side of the bond is bursting with rose golds and dusty pinks. “I’m just … I’m really happy you’re picking me. And also that I brushed my teeth this morning.”

Tony flushes and, yeah, there goes those damn butterflies again.

“Here, let me just -” Steve reaches up and carefully cradles Tony’s face between his hands. “This okay?”

Tony nods slowly in Steve’s hands, his own shaking with nerves but also in anticipation. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do here.

Steve kisses leans up and kisses him gently as if too much force would cause Tony to shatter, his blond lashes fanning over his cheeks.

Tony gets a little stiff with it, surprised at how soft and warm Steve’s mouth feels against his, but he doesn’t hate it. No, he doesn’t hate it at all. In fact, his eyes shudder close and he leans more into the warm press of Steve’s mouth, working on instinct alone as the world fades away in the background.

Steve pulls away, glancing at him quickly to determine if he’s okay before he leans back in just as quickly before Tony can worry that he might have done something wrong.

Tony makes a small sound when he feels the unmistakable brush of Steve’s tongue gliding over his bottom lip. He nearly chases after it with his own tongue, but he’s not sure if that would be too crude of him to do so. He doesn’t, just in case, because he doesn’t want to give Steve any reason to stop kissing him.

When Steve gives him another chaste kiss, he marvels at the way a simple touch of lips can feel both like salvation and damnation at the same time, lighting both his mind and body on fire. He reaches up to grip at Steve’s forearms when the Alpha pulls back to stamp kisses all over his face, making him smile and wiggle under the onslaught with a light laugh.  

Then Steve pulls back and drops his hands with smile. “How was that?”

“Good,” Tony mumbles shyly but his lips are tingling with the need to do kiss Steve again and again. “Really good. I - you were - that was good.” He goes a little pink at his own incoherence.

Steve gets a little pink too but he seems more pleased than anything. “Well that’s … I’m glad. I wanted you to - I was hoping for that for you.”

Tony fidgets and asks, “Was I, you know, okay?”

“You were perfect, honey.”

Tony’s face goes up in flames and he can feel himself getting wet from the praise, and when Steve's nose flares in response, that's all he can take. He croaks, “Can you excuse me for a minute?”

Steve lets him flee to the bathroom without question.


	5. YEAR 1: PART V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - I am out here ya'll trying to do my best :S

That kiss.

That kiss has really ruined him.

Steve needs to send Peggy an edible bouquet and a thorough apology because she was right. What he had felt for her _had_  been infatuation, because he’s never felt like how he feels when he looks at Tony, let alone think about him.

And that _kiss_.

Even though it was Tony’s first, it had felt like Steve’s as well, because he couldn't ever remember any other kiss he’s had in his entire life that ever measured up to what it was like to kiss Tony. And kissing Tony was like how sunlight kisses the shyest flowers to encourage them to bloom, and how moonbeams kiss the sea to make a ripple of perfect waves. He wants to do it again. He wants to do it often. He presses slightly shaky fingers to his own lips as his other hand flattens over his racing heart. It felt like it was fluttering so fast that had nothing been there to stop it, it might have floated away.

The first time he starts thinking in color was during their walk to the supermarket yesterday. And it was exactly like how his Ma used to describe whenever she talked about the bond she shared with his Da. That Bond Coloring was of a different kind of beauty, separate from the delights of nature, or the glory of space, a rank of and to it's own. 

Steve nearly smiles when he thinks about how Tony’s side of the bond had blossomed in soft hues of pale pinks and ruby reds, unfolding beautifully like flowers that bloom in the spring. A part of him hopes that means that Tony might just feel the same way he does about him. He wants to know, but he won’t push. Not yet.

He meant what he said last night, despite how emboldened the wine had made him. He would like to court Tony, show that he’s deserving of him, worthy. He won't let the fact that they are already married stop him. But he’ll need to understand Tony better in order to do that, which means learning as much as he can about his Omega.

What he knows so far is that Tony is absolutely brilliant and can do anything he puts his mind to. He’s charmingly curious in a way that makes his intelligent and expressive whiskey brown eyes even more bewitching. He’s pointedly funny, and cunningly mischievous, if that stunt he pulled on Steve when they were at the supermarket is anything to go by. He has a rich sweetness to him, like strawberries dipped in honey on a hot summer. He’s considerately giving, and he allows himself to _depend_ on Steve while still maintaining his own independence. He’s also often blunt about his past, or the traumatic experiences he’s been through because he has horrid parents that have clearly taken Tony for granted.

Steve will never make that mistake. But more importantly, he plans to do what he can to undo some of the damage Tony’s brutal upbringing has caused. He makes it into a plan, mentally mapping out the upcoming year, becoming lost to the rhythm and the calm he gets from setting goals.

The apartment is dead silent, and so when the oven chimes, alerting that it’s preheated, Steve is startled out of his thoughts. He gets to work with putting the tray of chicken nuggets in the oven before setting the timer.

Tony hasn’t returned yet.

Steve tries to strain his ears to hear what the Omega might be doing in the bathroom, but his hearing has never been the best. He doesn’t move any closer to the door, though he wants to, not to spy or Tony or anything, but to reassure himself that his Omega is okay.

Tony seems to have an aversion to how his own body responds to arousal.

Steve would be flattered if he wasn’t so concerned about why exactly Tony is so ashamed of his own desires. It doesn’t escape his notice that any type of praise hits Tony like a trigger. He’s trying to be more mindful about that, making a mental note to tone down the compliments and keep them confined to the privacy of their apartment.

Tony’s comfort matters to him. Not just because they are married, but because he likes Tony, and despite everything else, he considers the younger man to be a friend. He doesn't think that would ever change, even if Tony may never allow him more than that.

Steve hopes he can have more than that.

He sighs and goes through the motion of getting dressed for the day before hooking up his laptop to its glitchy charger. He decides to let the device settle and opts to use his phone to check his email for any correspondence from Bucky.

There is none.

Steve has to remind himself that it’s only been a few days since his deployment and that the Beta did promise to send word once the dust settles. He leans on the faith of that promise and spends the next couple of moments sitting on the edge of their messy bed while he goes through his news alerts for Hydra (while also texting his Ma to check in on her).

Tony finally reappears when Steve is nearly four paragraphs deep in an article about how tragically successful Hydra has been about claiming the territory of Lagos. He opens his mouth to say something.

Tony beats him to the punch. “I’m fine. I liked the kiss. Obviously a little too much maybe, but, yeah.”

Steve nods and decides not to press. Maybe later on tonight he might bring it up, but for now, he leaves it alone. For now, he’s happy to see that Tony’s eyes aren’t red and takes it as a positive sign. He glances back down to the article he was reading as his mouth slouches unhappily.

Tony says, “Hey, frowny. The corners of your mouth are defying gravity. I'm worried you're trying to set a record but keep it up and you might actually sprain something. What’s got you looking so grumpy?”

Steve blinks and looks up, watching the younger man return to his spot at the island counter, resuming his work on the coffee machine. He looks more relaxed now, if not complacent. Beguilingly handsome.

“Steve?” Tony's twisting his body to look at him with a raised brow.

Right. Tony asked him a question and he's staring like an idiot. He clears his throat as his face goes a bit hot. “Hydra’s claimed Lagos. There’s speculation that they’re eyeing Sudan.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound at that before he turns to face the other direction. “They’ll get it,” he reasons, and his voice is as confident as how his hands look while he's wielding a wrench and a screwdriver. “There’s a reason why they’re trying to conquer all that land, I feel like. They’re obviously looking for something, and using all this war business as a cover-up isn't the craziest way to go about it. And you know, I read this theory coasting on one of those off-the-grid sites on the dark web where the most paranoid people go to play. Apparently, there’s something about some kind of magic cube stashed in a hidden city of black panthers surrounded by mountains with the kind of precious metals that are perfect for weapon-making or creating warships. I’m guessing if an evil organization like Hydra can locate a place like that, well, they’d probably stop pretending at war, and really try taking over the world.”

“Ah, well, that's quite a theory. Can’t say if that might really be the case, but they need t' be stopped either way,” Steve replies and stands to his feet before he walks over. He takes a moment to check on their food and leaves it be when he sees there’s still some minutes left on the timer. “I’m worried about Bucky,” he admits, leaning back against the kitchen sink so he can face Tony directly.

“He’s the one that was recently deployed, right? You haven’t heard anything? Has it been too long?”

“No, it hasn't been long. I’m being too anxious,” Steve sighs, watching the way Tony’s eyes narrow in concentration while his fingers move with a grace and speed that’s pretty admirable.

“I could hack the Pentagon and see what’s going on if you wanted?” Tony casually offers, never once looking up from the different parts of the coffee machine he’s managed to separate.

“I, ah, appreciate the thought, it’s really sweet, but I wouldn’t want you to go through all that trouble for me,” Steve assures and suddenly Tony’s side of the bond is blooming with candy apple reds. “Maybe save that for when I’m feeling really desperate, honey.”

Tony glances his way with a half-grin and slightly pink cheeks. “You know, most sane people would question if I even _could_ hack the Pentagon. But you do that thing you do when I say things like that.”

“Of course I don’t question it, Tony. You’re a genius,” Steve states because that became obvious to him long before he found out about Tony’s impressive education. “And what ‘thing’? What do I do?”

Tony snorts and looks at him in a way that gives him butterflies. “You have this habit of taking everything I say at face value. Like it’s a fact.”

“Well, aren’t they usually?”

Tony just shakes his head with fond exasperation. “I’m an Omega. Everything I do is not supposed to go unquestioned.”

Steve hates seeing his side of the bond go sour with different shades of blue. “I think I have enough common sense to distinguish between what I should and shouldn’t take seriously about you. You haven’t given me a reason so far to doubt you, and I don’t plan on doing that until that somehow changes.”

“Ridiculous,” Tony mutters, glancing away and concentrating on the disassembled parts in his hands, grin still in place. “Really, you are the most unreal Alpha I have ever met.”

“I don’t really take that as a compliment,” Steve replies dryly, crossing his arms and shifts his weight as he continues to watch his brilliant Omega work. Tony seems to really enjoy what he’s doing. “If anything it makes me want t' sock the ones you _have_ met so far.”

“Aw, _lamb_ ,” Tony teases and smirks when it gets Steve to look at him flatly. “You really would, wouldn’t you? God, you are something else.”

“As I said before, I’m not the one that needs to be appreciated,” Steve says, turning when the timer goes off. “Think you can take a break from all that to eat?”

“If I have to,” Tony sighs dramatically and it makes Steve smile. “Actually, I think I might need some more parts for this. Nothing big, but, if there’s a second-hand store around here for electronics, that’ll do just fine too.”

“There is one a few blocks north from here I could take you to,” Steve offers while he uses oven mitts to take their food out and place on top of the black burners on the stove. “It’s supposed to be nice out.”

“I’m not going to say no to some good weather or a chance to get my hands on some slightly used transistors and microchips,” Tony quips with an adorably eager expression.

“It’s a date.”

Tony frowns bemusedly at the phrase but nods. “Question,” he says in the next moment while Steve serves him first and then himself last. “I noticed there was an advert up about an empty two bedroom apartment. Would you be interested in moving into a bigger space?”

“Ideally, yes. Financially, we’re not quite there yet. What's your choice of sauce? Ketchup? Barbecue? Ranch?”

“Mustard.”

Steve wrinkles his nose and laughs when Tony shoots him an annoyed look. “Sorry, don’t mean t' judge. Actually, no, I take that back. I absolutely do. Mustard belongs on hamburgers and hot dogs.”

“I’ve only had one of those, not the other. And I’ll have you know that it tastes just fine,” Tony argues, snatching the bottle of mustard before Steve can get a chance to hand it over all the way. He shakes it threateningly at Steve with a charmingly serious frown. “All I see on this label is the name of the company, the ingredients, and the serving size. Hm, let’s see. Nope, nothing about what you can and _can’t_ use it on.”

“Alright, alright, I fold,” Steve swears, taking the seat next to him. “Back to this apartment business though. You get what I mean?”

“Yeah, but if I get a job, do you think we could do it then?”

Steve does but he doesn’t want to get Tony’s hopes up. Applying for apartments, even in your own complex, was often tricky and emotionally taxing business. “We’d have to save twice the amount of the cost of rent for any emergencies. But the momentum of that timeline could put us out of the running if someone comes along and claims the apartment themselves. Might not stay empty forever.”

“True,” Tony supposes between bites, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring it up.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve promises. “We can revisit this conversation when you get a job.”

“You mean ‘if’.”

“No, I’m pretty sure with a brain like yours there’s no question.”

Tony has rosy cheeks when he steals one of Steve's nuggets.

Steve, who once gave someone a black eye for doing the same thing, lets him.

.

.

.

It takes them another hour or so to actually get out the door because Steve makes it a point to remind Tony that he's got to make the bed, and the Omega refuses Steve's help, even when he's obviously struggling. He eventually gets it right, that same proud look like last time, though not without Steve's transparent humor, or Tony's colorful language during the whole process.

And thus an hour later they are out the door.

Tony was sporting casual clothes and looking absolutely thrilled about it, which means there’s a story there that Steve probably won’t like.

Regardless, Steve finds him to be the most handsome when he’s confidently relaxed. He takes his chances by complimenting Tony on his choice of outfit and it’s worth the way his side of the bond blooms with pale pinks that almost matches what appears on Tony’s cheeks when he thanks Steve shyly.

Steve is flooded with a swell of pride, a feeling he normally gets when he’s able to make the people he cares about happy.

“There's not a lot of foot traffic today,” Tony comments as they idle at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change.

“It’s Sunday,” Steve explains, used to the slow mornings. “Most folks are still sleeping in, or at Mass, or downtown for the Knights game." He continues, "So listen, we’re gonna pass this older woman. If she offers you cookies, do not take them. She has possibly fifty cats, and she cleans out their litter box with her bare hands. She thinks it’s a form of intimacy.”

Tony stares at him blankly.

“She also doesn’t believe in washing her hands.”

Tony dry heaves.

“Uh huh,” Steve approves with a slight grin. “Not gonna say I learned that lesson the hard way with a bad case of the runs, but I’m also not so cruel that I’d let you walk into that situation blind. Same team, right?”

“Same team,” Tony echoes with a light laugh, giving him one of those looks that make Steve feel as if he’s 30 feet tall.

“Exactly,” Steve says. “So tell her you're allergic to whatever flavor she offers.”

Tony throws his head back and the laugh fills Steve’s chest with indescribable warmth while his side of the bond flares with different hues of purple.

Steve is starting to identify those shades as ‘the color Tony makes when he’s in a playful mood’. He likes it when Tony is playful, but there’s a part of him that likes it too much. And sometimes the feeling is enough to make him want to kiss Tony’s neck until he melts in Steve's arms.

“And why exactly can’t we just accept them, and then not eat them?”

“She’ll invite us in to sit down and properly enjoy them with tea,” Steve explains because honestly, it’s not as if he hadn’t already tried to play that card.

“So she’s pushy.”

“She’s a Brooklyn Mom. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about that one, sweetheart.”

Tony laughs again, even as his face colors from the endearment.

Steve smiles, that feeling of pride flooding him again. He likes that he finds no trouble in getting Tony to laugh. So much so that he figures he should say as much. He does.

Tony snorts, looking vaguely exasperated. “You say some of the oddest things sometimes. Yeah, you can look like that all you want, but I’m not changing my mind about it. Besides, I'm not saying it’s a bad thing. I find you really interesting that way, and if you try to change, well, that opinion might change too.”

“Huh. That’s gotta be the most threatening compliment I’ve ever gotten,” Steve comments airily with a fake look of consideration.

“Yeah, it’s one of my many social skills. Hey, what’s this?” Tony pauses next to a street lamp that has a flyer about an upcoming block party on an avenue Steve is more than familiar with since he’s attended the event on numerous occasions. “Brooklyn Street Amateurs present’s Absurdist Art,” he murmurs, reading directly from the flyer.

“It’s a block party, or more like a festival that gives small time or even amateur artists a chance to showcase their art, make a little money, do a bit of networking, and just get their work out there,” Steve explains.

“You’re an artist,” Tony says point-blankly as he nods to the flyer. “Are you getting in on the action? From what I’ve seen of your work - which I demand you show me more of by the way - you’ve got some real talent.”

“I’ve participated maybe one or two times. Hadn’t planned on it this year though, figured I would have been, you know, elsewhere,” Steve admits because, well, he had. His optimism hadn’t foreseen Bucky deployed and him being forced to be left behind because of it. “Maybe if I’m inspired by something, I might. Guess we’ll see.”

“Looks like you got a whole month to decide,” Tony emphasizes as he wiggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Steve huff as they continue on. “No, seriously, Steve. You’ve got some talent. I mean, I’m not knowledgeable in that area. And the closest thing I’ve given appreciation to when it comes to that kind of stuff is comics. Hey, yeah, what about that? You ever think about doing comics? There’s got to be tons of writers that need a graphic artist.”

“I don’t really consider myself a graphic artist. I mostly deal in realistic art that borders impressionism,” Steve carefully side-steps because he likes what he does now, though it doesn't pay as well as he'd like. “I don’t think that's the kind of style anyone in the comic business is in the market for. Also, thank you. I consider myself average.”

Tony slowly smiles and his cunning gaze sharpens in a way that makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up in interest. “You’re many things, Rogers. But you are _far_ from average.”

Steve goes pink because Tony is looking at him in that way that he looks at Tony when he thinks the Omega isn’t looking. Like he’s the sun. He clears his throat as his flush dies down, amused that Tony seems smug for it.

“But, sure. No pressure, I guess. Just something to consider. Nothing wrong with capitalizing on your skills, Stevie,” Tony goes on to say, and then he’s shifting on his heels impatiently when they have to pause at another crosswalk. “How much longer till we hit that second-hand store?”

Steve gives into his first instinct by saying, “Sorry, I know we’re going a bit slow. On hot days like this, I figure it’s better safe than sorry. I’m an asthmatic.”

“Not really something I think you should be apologizing for, but I wasn’t asking to complain,” Tony promises with a concerned look. “It’s really nice out, and I’m more used to traveling by car than my own two feet. This change of pace is the last thing I would throw a tantrum about. I used to actually daydream about doing things like this. I’m grateful to even have it, so don’t ever think otherwise.”

“Okay,” Steve replies softly, marveling at the way Tony’s words relaxes something in him that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Do you … how often do you have trouble with that? The breathing thing.”

“Not as often as when I was younger. The instances are more spaced out, and most of them happen, like I said, when it’s really hot. Summer is usually a challenge, but.” Steve shrugs as he thinks about it. “I keep my inhaler on hand anyway.”

Tony nods but he gets thoughtfully silent.

“We’re about another ten minutes away, to answer your question. And we still have to make it past Mrs. Petunia,” Steve replies and goes to grab Tony’s hand unthinkingly.

Tony kind of jerks to the right, out of his reach, looking a little pained.

Steve pulls his hand back, swallowing back a bit of hurt at the reaction. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

Tony looks a little frustrated with himself and his side of the bond simmers in mustard yellows. “Uh, no. No, it’s not - not you. I - we’re in public, Steve,” he stresses.

Steve almost hits his own forehead but he doesn’t, even though it’s a close thing. They’ve had this talk before. “I should have asked,” he repeats. “I forgot you have a hard time with … that touching is still an issue.”

“It’s not an - an _issue_ ,” Tony retorts, now looking annoyed with Steve. “It’s not. Don’t - you - _ugh_.” He takes a moment to blow out an aggravated breath. “Look. It's like I said. I was taught that that kind of contact is supposed to be limited to the privacy of home. No, hang on, don’t say anything yet, let me finish before you start shooting, cowboy. I know you think that I shouldn’t believe that. That it’s not true. But it’s - it’s not that simple. We’re talking about years and years of this being ingrained in me. I can’t just … get over it. I mean us holding hands at your mother’s was one thing. Small step, you know, baby step. It wasn’t awful, and I think I could - maybe down the road be okay with holding hands in public but right now it’s hard, and I wouldn’t feel - it still seems crude to me right now.”

Steve nods to acknowledge the point, though his heart hurts, not from rejection because it’s clear that Tony _does_ want to hold his hand and is even making an effort to work up to it. But his heart hurts _for_ Tony, for the life of isolation he’s had to live, thinking he’s not good enough or deserving of physical affection. It makes him wonder about other things.

“Still with me, Rogers?” Tony touches his shoulder in an attempt to be bold, a mild sheen of pink gracing his cheeks for his efforts and it’s enough to make Steve smile and fall a little bit harder for him.

Steve misses the contact when Tony pulls his hand back as soon as he’s sure he’s got Steve’s attention. 

The light changes and they are walking forward again.

“Yeah, sorry." Steve rubs the back of his neck restlessly. "I was just … you’re right. But I’ll be better about reminding myself to ask instead of acting on it. Please know you can call me out on these things anytime you need to until I get it through my thick skull.”

“You can ask me about things too,” Tony offers with a mild shrug, and Steve has noticed that it’s his response to most things, making him wonder if that’s how Tony checks himself for emotional reactions. “I mean, you can ask me why I do things the way that I do. It’ll maybe help us from misunderstanding each other.”

“If that’s what you want,” Steve hedges.

At this point, they have reached Mrs. Petunia’s stoop, where she’s lounging on a lawn chair, watching the streets and it’s pedestrians while her cats yowl all around her. “Good morning, Steven,” she greets warmly like she always does.

Steve offers her a polite smile. “Yes, and it’s certainly looking good on you. Have you gone and gotten more beautiful on me again? You’re breakin’ a lot of hearts that way, Mrs. Petunia,” he teases because while he’ll never make the mistake of stomaching her food again, he still likes the older woman as a person.

Mrs. Petunia is chortling while she uses a dark blue decorative folding fan to cool down. “Flatterer,” she admonishes fondly. “I’ve heard you’ve gone and jumped the broom.”

“Word gets around fast.” Steve isn’t surprised. That’s the way it was around here. Everyone was pretty much in each other’s pockets in this section of the community. “This is my husband, Tony. Tony, this jewel of the neighborhood is Eleanor Petunia.”

“Well met,” Mrs. Petunia greets with a friendly grin.

“Likewise,” Tony says as he wears one of those charming grins that Steve has noticed he only likes to break out with strangers. “And if I can just say, I agree completely with Steve. You are radiant. Never mind the fact that I’ve always loved a woman with two first names. I find it ambitious.”

Mrs. Petunia throws her head back when she’s startled into laughter.

Tony is wearing the kind of triumphant expression that makes Steve want to both show him off and yet horde him away like treasure. His side of the bond is swimming in purple hues again.

“My gosh, you are as terrible as Steven is,” Mrs. Petunia manages to say when she calms down. “He’s got quite a match in you, doesn’t he?”

“Keeps me honest,” Steve agrees with a half-grin that must be as affectionate as it feels because Tony shoves him slightly with a small blush. “Anyway, you kept turning down my proposals. What’s a guy t' do?”

“I’ve told you, I’m too much Omega for you to handle,” Mrs. Petunia quips playfully. “My wife, god rest her soul, could barely keep up with me most days. But you look like you’ve got someone to keep you on your toes now. You look to be the same age as my oldest grandchild, Tony. Oh, Steve! I forgot to tell you! Arnold was accepted to the University of Notre Dame with a full ride.”

“That’s great, Mrs. Pea,” Steve replies with genuine cheer. “Knew he had it in him. Eyes up and feet planted, come what may and stay the course, right?”

“Right as rain,” Mrs. Petunia agrees pleasantly. “There’s nothing more rewarding than seeing the generations after you succeed. Will you two be adding the pitter-patter of little feet to our little community? Heaven knows there are not enough children like there used to be. I’m grateful for the government's foresight about that. We’ll all wither away if left to this new generation and their devices. And to add the war on top of it no less. Some people are so selfish.”

Steve sighs. He was hoping to avoid this topic. Mrs. Petunia meant well, but she was a traditionalist at heart. “The marriage is still new, but down the line, we’ll revisit the subject,” he replies vaguely.

Tony is tense beside him, pointedly quiet.

“Well, see that you do,” Mrs. Petunia insists. “Now, how about I treat you two to some cookies, hm? There’s a fresh batch I made last night. Chocolate chip walnut.”

“Thank you, but I have a nut allergy,” Tony states flatly, his side of the bond is simmering in dark burgundy and navy blues.

“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, I won’t hold you two love birds any longer. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Mrs. Petunia says with a wink, struggling to stand to her feet as she waddles back indoors.

“She means well,” Steve says as they begin their trek again.

Tony snorts bitterly. “Yes, I haven’t met a single person in my entire life that _didn’t_.”

Steve winces sympathetically. “This is one of those things I’ll never understand, huh?”

Tony’s expression clears and looks decidedly less thunderous. He replies, “I should be mad at you just on the basis that you're an Alpha, but you make that almost impossible sometimes. Honestly, I think when it comes to _meaning well_ … you do it the best.”

“Thanks...” Steve is unsure if that’s a compliment or not but Tony’s side of the bond is starting to bleed in different shades of purple again. “I think.”

“Definitely a compliment, lamb,” Tony assures with a small grin. “I don’t lump you in with that lot. You’ve earned the benefit of the doubt.”

“Oh. Good to know.”

Tony huffs and bumps their shoulders together, and that’s that.

The rest of the walk is spent in more companionable silence.

Steve finds himself wanting to draw the way Tony eyes light up when they finally step into the shop titled _Happy’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Electronic Delights_ , the bell ringing over their heads to announce their arrival.

Tony looks around like he's discovered a treasure trove, and Steve thinks he’s starting to understand how passionate Tony is about this particular area of expertise.

Steve has only been inside this store just two times. Once to bargain for his current laptop and the second time to bargain for his record player. He likes the owner, Happy Hogan, who is famous in the neighborhood for being it’s pride and joy back during his boxing days. People have nothing but good things to say about the bulky Beta whenever he’s brought up, but for whatever reason, they get tight-lipped when anyone questions why Mr. Hogan retired and decided to open up a second-hand electronic store.

Steve thinks maybe there’s a tragic story there that he wouldn't mind never knowing about.

“This is all…” Tony breathes, cheeks flushed with his good cheer. “It’s all so reasonable. Steve, how is this all so reasonably priced?”

Steve smiles. “You’d be better off asking Mr. Hogan about that. He sets the rates, but more than that, he’ll still even let you bargain.”

“This is definitely _Nirvana_ ,” Tony says, clapping his hands together with glee, looking happier than Steve’s ever seen. “Oh, this is going to open up all sorts of possibilities. Come on.”

Steve follows Tony around the store like an uxorious husband, fond grin firmly planted on his face as Tony talks a mile a minute about the things he shoves into both Steve’s and his own arms. He goes along with it like a kid with a crush, just enjoying the delight that Tony finds in being here as though it were his own.

It’s only when Tony realizes that neither of them has any more room to carry much else, does he sigh forlornly at some jumper cables and says, “Don’t you go anywhere. I will be back for you.”

Steve tries to cough to cover his laughter but Tony shoots him a playfully stern look that proves he didn’t do a good job. He follows Tony to the front counter where Mr. Hogan has his feet propped up on the register and he’s reading the _Daily Bugle_.

“Okay, that’s bullshit,” Tony says suddenly, dumping everything in his arms on the counter. He points to the front page of the newspaper. “Spider-Man is not a menace, and he’s not harassing anyone. Wilhelmina Fisk is so full of it, but of course, she gets away with it because she’s an Alpha.”

Mr. Hogan just peers at Tony from the top of his newspaper with a raised eyebrow. “Boys in blue have a warrant out for his arrest and a subpoena. He tried to break into Fisk’s research lab and stole confidential data. Where I’m from, we call that trespassing,” he replies, still not lowering the paper.

Steve knows Mr. Hogan is trying to get a rise out of Tony because if there’s a bigger fan of Spider-Man besides his Omega, it’s Mr. Hogan.

Tony snorts. “Oh please. That’s just half of the story and you know it. Anyone with enough common sense, or who haven’t been bought off, knows that Fisk is the supervillain moonlighting as Queenpin. I think it makes it even _more_ suspicious that anyone who was brave enough to try and confirm it as a witness ‘disappeared under mysterious circumstances’ while _still_ in police custody. Sorry but not sorry, we have some of the worst police officers whose loyalty can be as easily purchased as meat at the local market.”

Mr. Hogan makes a thoughtful sound before he finally folds the paper away, standing to his feet and then offering a big, meaty hand in short order. “I like you, kid. Not a lot of people have the balls to say what you did. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with you. I just had t' be sure we were on the same side. Made the mistake of voicing the same opinion in the wrong crowd and, well, here I am. Happy Hogan.”

“Tony Stark, uh, Rogers. Tony Rogers.”

Steve smiles to himself.

“No kidding, huh? You married this fool? Don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. No doubt there’s a legion of O's out there weeping over it,” Mr. Hogan teases, shooting Steve an acknowledging nod that the Alpha returns with an eye roll.

“Oh, I don’t know about legion, but I did meet a handful when we had dinner with his mother,” Tony comments lightly and his side of the bond pulses in vibrant hues of green, just like it did the other day when they were forced to talk about the cause for all the commotion with his exes.

Steve realizes that Tony is jealous, and it’s not unfamiliar to him when it comes to his partner, but somehow it’s still different. For one thing, it makes his stupid lizard Alpha brain flex in self-satisfaction, unlike those other times.

“Steve’s a good guy,” Mr. Hogan goes on to say. “Real boy scout. Helps little old ladies across the street, and is the second-in-command of the Neighborhood Watch. Won't find a better egg.”

Steve flushes as Tony slowly grins without looking at him and says, “Neighborhood Watch, huh? Yeah, sounds like Stevie.”

Mr. Hogan shares a laugh with him while Steve grumbles shyly. The Beta man says, “Well, what are you two crazy kids up to? You got enough gear here t' make a TV from scratch.”

“It’s for our coffee machine if you can believe,” Tony clarifies while Mr. Hogan rings them up. “And maybe a few other projects I’ve been thinking on. Figured I see where the day takes me after I make some modifications to Steve’s wedding present.”

Mr. Hogan sends Steve a look for that one. “What kinda wedding present must it be if you need t' modify it?”

Steve glares at the man, slightly insulted.

“Oh, I take that as part of the gift,” Tony replies, brushing his fingers against Steve's in attempt to calm him down, and yeah, it works a little too well. “It’s a diamond in the rough, and I have a thing for those. I plan on turning it into something we can both be proud of. It’ll be perfect.”

“So you say,” Mr. Hogan remarks with a smile. “Seems like you got a husband that understands you well enough. Excuse my comments then.”

“Excused,” Steve mutters sarcastically and lets his lips curl up when Tony shoots him a warm look for it. “What’s the damage?”

“Hundred bucks.”

Steve winces. That’s way more than he’s willing to spend. “How much can I talk you down to fifty?”

Mr. Hogan smirks and leans forward a bit, turning his face. “Tell you what. Seeing as how you two are newlyweds and all, I’ll give it t' you for the low, low price of twenty bucks and a kiss on the cheek from your new sweetheart.”

“We’ll take it!” Tony blurts before Steve’s pride can refuse, and he darts forward, leaning across the counter to give Mr. Hogan a kiss on the cheek that lasts barely a second. “Thank you. You’ve certainly made a regular of me.”

“That’s what it’s all about,” Mr. Hogan states with a wink while Steve tries to set the older man on fire with the sheer force of his outraged glare alone. “Spread the word.”

Steve plans on doing no such thing.

Tony has to nudge him several times before he forks the money over.

Mr. Hogan maintains his shit-eating grin the whole time he bags everything up, even adding the Spider-Man rollerblades to their haul, free of charge, when he notices how seriously Tony is eyeing them from where they were set on the display shelf above Mr. Hogan's head.

Steve is silently stewing over that kiss throughout the whole walk home.

Tony’s side of the bond is swimming in the shades of a ripe apricot. He’s even full out humming by the time they hit the block for their apartment complex.

Steve sincerely tries to put it out of his mind as they take the elevator up and be content with the fact that Tony is saturated in a good mood but it’s hard. He might need to take a nap or something. In fact, that’s what he plans on doing after he unlocks the door, but as soon as he shuts the door and locks it, Tony is right there, cornering him against it.

“You know the bond does this thing where it gets all sorts of green when you’re jealous,” Tony says shortly and then flat out kisses him.

Steve freezes for a moment, making a noise of surprise, but quickly gets with the program, lifting his hands to cradle Tony’s face, tilting his head just so. He keeps it chaste, not trusting himself to have enough restraint if he tries to deepen it. But he does still give in to the temptation to lick the taste of Mr. Hogan's skin off of his Omega’s lips.

Tony snorts and ducks his head back before detangling himself from their embrace, face pink but eyes bright and pleased. “Thought I would do something bold while I’m riding the endorphin-fueled high of you buying me additional parts. I’m your Omega, Steve. I told you. You’re the only one I’ll be kissing on the lips,” he promises before darting away, muttering to himself about the ‘theory of mind’ and ‘reactive programming’.

Steve’s heart is still racing, and he’s got an endorphin-fueled high himself that he savors for a few moments before straightening. He finds that he still wants to take that nap, but not because he’s moody, no, Tony’s thoroughly taken care of that. But because he’s actually physically tired from carrying all those bags under the relentless heat of the sun.

He slips out of his shoes and puts them neatly against the wall while setting a quick alarm on his phone, slipping the device back into his pocket before flopping face forward on his side of the bed. He falls asleep to the sound of Tony verbally relaying his stream of consciousness while he works.  

By the time Steve realizes he’s been smiling like a dope into his pillow the whole time, he’s already knocked into a dreamless sleep.

.

.

.

Steve sleeps right through his alarm and is terribly groggy for it. He spends a moment stretching and blinking up at the ceiling. He sits up after a while and it doesn’t look like Tony’s moved at all from his spot at the island counter, still muttering to himself. He smiles a little and wanders over just as his stomach starts growling.

“And he’s awake,” Tony muses, gifting him with a smile while he quite literally takes apart Steve’s microwave. “I thought for sure you’d sleep through dinner or something. Though, to be honest, I don’t think I would have minded so much. That would have meant I got to eat your mother’s leftovers all by myself.”

Steve huffs with an amused grin. “Sorry to disappoint. What did you eat for lunch?”

“Cake.” Tony suddenly hisses and there’s a small spark as he quickly yanks his fingers back with a grimace. “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes,” he mutters, sucking on his fingers as a small puff of smoke forms.

“You okay?” Steve asks with genuine concern, though his lips twitch at the interesting word choice Tony’s decided to use to express his pain.

“Yeah, just touched two wires together that definitely should not have touched. Live and learn. I’m okay.”

“I have a small first aid kit in the bathroom in the medicine cabinet if you need.” Steve eyes everything Tony’s doing while the Omega nods to acknowledge the comment. “Guess I’m using the oven to warm up leftovers. Ah, do I want to know what you plan on doing with the microwave?”

“I’m making it better, Steve. I figured if I’m going to modify the coffee machine, I might as well extend the generosity to the other appliances. Once I have these two sorted out, I’ll get to the stove and the fridge next, but not without sorting out the toaster.”

“What exactly -”

Tony quickly interjects with a wide grin that kind of makes Steve breathless, “It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yup,” Tony replies, shifting his attention back to the disassembled hardware. “We don’t have to necessarily have to afford the best when I can make it the best myself. I don’t need much, but I'm never one to disappoint with the little I am given.”

“I trust you,” Steve simply states and the momentary pause Tony gives at the words doesn’t exactly escape his notice. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

The smile on Tony’s face lasts all throughout dinner when Steve gets around to warming leftovers up. There’s a moment where they fight over who gets the last helping of corn beef, and it goes to Tony because Steve is too busy being floored by the fact that he wants to do this kind of thing with Tony for the rest of his life.

He has to excuse himself before panic can set in, and justifies his exit by grabbing the trash to haul outside to the apartment complex’s nearby gated and enclosed dumpsters. After he actually does that, he lingers outside to breathe in the cool night air before he caves and calls Sam.

“ _Steve, what’s up? You hear something from Bucky?_ ”

“No. No, not yet, but I think I love him, Sam.”

“ _Bucky? Goodness,_ **_why_** _? The man is a glorified Yankees fan. It’s already a toxic relationship_.”

“No! Not -  I love Bucky but not like that!” Steve exclaims, giving in to the urge of high-five his own forehead. “I’m talking about Tony.”

“ _Tony? Your Tony? The Tony you married? You’re in love with that Tony? Tony, your husband?_ ”

“I’m really regretting calling you.”

Sam laughs and laughs. Pauses, mutters something to Riley, who must be nearby, and they begin to laugh together.

Steve can feel his face go up in flames. “Well, okay. I think that’s enough humiliation for one night. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“ _No, no, wait! Wait!_ ” Sam is gasping. He takes a few minutes to calm down. “ _Okay. You two have been married for all of two days,_ **_tops_** _, and now you think you’re in love with him?_ ”

“I don’t understand it either,” Steve groans. “I mean I do but I don’t. He’s just - he’s amazing, Sam. Like more than I could have ever hoped to deserve to have, you know. He’s so - and I’m just - but I wish -”

“ _Hey, hey. Slow down. Take a minute to breathe. What you’re feeling is completely valid, Steve. I wasn’t teasing. No, actually, I was, but you know that’s just me giving you a hard time. We grew up together, so this doesn’t exactly surprise me. Out of all us, you’ve been the one primed to fall the hardest for whoever was lucky enough to be it for you._ ”

Steve looks up into the night sky, wishing he could see the stars, but the city lights and pollution prevent that. 

“ _Now, I know you weren’t about to say something self-deprecating about how you don’t deserve someone like Tony, and how you wish you were enough, or the Alpha he needs. But you know what? I’m calling bullshit. Tell me something. Has Tony given you any reason to believe you’re not doing right by him?_ ”

Steve grumbles.

“ _Didn't hear that. Repeat that for me. And this time, increase the volume._ ”

“No.”

“ _No? I didn’t think so. So what is it you’re really worried about?_ ”

“That he … that he won't -” Steve swallows against the swell of emotions that expands in his throat. “That it’ll be like Peggy all over again.”

Sam makes a thoughtful sound. He doesn’t say anything at first, but that’s how he is. He likes to think before he speaks. When he’s ready, he says, “ _There’s this proverb. It says, ‘Love without sacrifice is like theft’. I was there when you fell out with Peggy, and yeah, I know that hurt, man. You really went through. But you know what? You said you didn’t think you could ever love again after her, and now you’re calling me up, saying that the guy you married already got the jump on you._

 _“I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you and say that marriage isn’t hard, that it’s easy with the right person, but no, that’s not quite true. Marriage is a challenge, but with the right person, it’s a **rewarding** one. To be deeply loved means a willingness to cut yourself wide open, exposing your vulnerabilities … hopes, hurts, fears and flaws. Hiding behind the highlight reel of who you are is the real you, and that person is just as worthy of love. There is nothing more terrifying or fulfilling than complete love, it's worth the risk … reach for it, Steve. _”

Steve exhales shakily. “Sam, I’m so scared.”

 _“Yeah, I know. I was too when I met Riley. Love at first sight, you know. You probably got that too. When it hits you it’s kind of … well, it’s ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming. But, above all that, it’s magic. And the best kind of magic sometimes takes faith. Give yourself more of that, and give Tony the benefit of the doubt._ ”

Steve rubs at his face tiredly. “Thanks.”

“ _Hey, no problem. You know I’m always here for you whenever you need._ ”

“I know,” Steve replies softly. “Same here.”

“ _Oh, I know. We feeling better now?_ ”

“Yes, yes. You knocked the sense back in.”

“ _That’s what I like to hear. You go and love up on your husband. I’m about to do the same with mine. Goodnight. Love you, fool._ ”

“Love you too, chump.” Steve slips the phone back in his pocket once the line disconnects. He takes his time doubling back to the apartment, even taking the long way so he can sort through his thoughts and feelings.

Tony’s in the bathroom putting on his face mask when he returns. His eyes glimmer playfully as he grins at Steve through the mirror, and Steve’s heart skips a beat. “There you are. I was starting to worry you were dragged away by wolves or something,” he remarks.

Steve huffs and shakes his head, entering the bathroom so he can brush his teeth. “There are no wolves out here. If anything, it would've been some feral raccoons,” he corrects, locking away his doubts and concerns. “New York raccoons are no joke.”

“I would have come after you,” Tony swears around his toothbrush, mouth foamy with it. He must realize how he looks because he adds, “I could infiltrate the ranks as a feral raccoon myself. The ones with rabies are the top dogs. I’ll even smudge some black eye-shadow around my eyes. They’d be none the wiser.”

“My hero,” Steve mumbles around his own toothbrush, snickering at the imagery. He rinses out his mouth and spits. He starts fishing for his floss and when he offers it to Tony, it’s accepted. “So, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but I work about thirty hours a week. Tuesdays through Thursdays. They’re ten hour days, though. Each class I have is about two hours long.”

Tony pauses his flossing to ask, “What time?”

“My shifts are 8:30 am to 7:15 pm,” Steve clarifies before trashing his floss.

Tony follows suit and snorts when Steve holds out his hand for the jar of red clay. “Take a seat, let me help you out this time.”

Steve is not going to pass on an opportunity where Tony willingly wants to touch him, platonic or otherwise. He sits on the edge of the tub and looks up at his husband.

“The trick is …” Tony scoops a small amount on his index and middle finger before carefully spreading it. “… to start with the nose. Go up to the forehead. Then move clockwise to spread and distribute evenly to the rest of the face.”

Steve’s eyes flutter under the gentle administrations and the sound of Tony’s voice. “M'gonna fall asleep. You’re really good at this,” he murmurs.

The left side of Tony’s mouth is curled up in amusement, wrinkling the mask he’s wearing. “Practice makes practical. No, stop smiling, you’re going to mess me up.”

“Stop making me smile and I will.”

Tony rolls his eyes but he doesn’t stop smiling himself. “Emoting is definitely a no-no when it comes to wearing these masks. Tilt your head a bit, please.”

Steve does what he asks without question.

“And … done.” Tony steps back, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully before he nods in satisfaction.

Steve stands to take a gander in the mirror and makes an impressed sound.

“Glad you approve. I’m gonna go back and tinker with my project. You’ll want to wash that off when it dries.”

Steve nods and waits until Tony is gone before he starts warming up the shower. The pipes whine and groan like they always do. He wishes he had a landlord that cared enough to do something about it, but as it is, he doesn’t and so he’s forced to become accustomed to it. Not like he could afford to hire a professional. 

He sighs and starts seriously contemplating the suggestion Tony made earlier in the day about them moving into a bigger apartment.

Somewhere deep down inside, he knows that he’d probably follow Tony to the very ends of the Earth if asked.

Yeah. He’s hopeless.


	6. YEAR 1: PART VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - hey, gang, take another look at the tags, I added a few things; and let me know of what you think of this update :)

Tony tries not to think about sex outside of his Heat Cycles. But being around Steve makes that incredibly hard.

There’s this thing they used to teach the Omegas back in his boarding school days. The Headmaster, a stiff-lipped Alpha with big, shiny teeth, made Tony and his classmates wear rubber bands around the wrists.

“Your desires are unnatural,” Headmaster Aldrich Killian would say during their weekly assemblies. “They serve as nothing but a distraction outside of your Time. Now I know it will be difficult for you to control those urges at first, but my faculty and I will instill in you some habits to help maintain your honor. The rubber bands on your wrists are a reminder that the anatomy of your person is solely for the use of your Alpha. When you feel these … _desires …_ surge up, I want you to snap the band. Remember: it’s either the bite of the rubber or the bite of my paddle. Choose wisely.”

Tony felt as though he had struggled the most throughout his schooling because once puberty hit, he found it challenging not to be curious about sex. But it only took getting caught once in the computer lab, just watching a short film that explained how sex worked between Alphas and Omegas, by a faculty member, who reported him to Headmaster Killian.

The Alpha took one look at Tony, with a stare and a smirk that sent a chill down Tony’s spine, and dismissed him from his office without any punishment at all. It had been confusing and nagged at Tony for the next week. And then, when Sunday rolled around, the chips seem to fall into place.

Headmaster Killian had decided on discipline after all, and part of it had been to drag it out before surprising Tony as he tried to file in with the rest of his classmates in the Main Hall’s auditorium. He made Tony stand on the stage during that assembly in front of the entire school and describe in detail the video he had been watching while all those eyes stared back at him, some in horror, some in sympathy, and others in cruel glee.

Tony had been devastatingly humiliated. So he stopped trying to be curious, stopped fantasizing about the pleasures of physical contact, whether by himself, or with another person, and bore as many red lines on his wrists as it took to avoid going through a repeat performance like that.

The Headmaster had a chilling talent for determining what punishment best suited the crime, and he was always successful in the outcome.

Tony avoided the Alpha like the plague, keeping his head down, distancing himself from his peers. The worst part about having to go through what he went through at the assembly, was that it only happened because he had been ratted out by someone who he had assumed was his friend.

Tony made sure to never make the same mistake again. He graduated with the top honors, but without a friend in the world and ironclad control on his desires. He’d been really successful with that too, keeping his eyes on the prize by reminding himself that all he had to do was distract himself until the next Heat Cycle hit, where he could be free to think and do whatever his hormones demanded. He never had an incident outside of them anymore.

Until Steve.

Steve with his beautiful face, his long fingers, and those goddamn _compliments_ that slam into Tony like a freight train every time. He’s been forced to rely on his old methods, namely, wearing rubber bands again. He only snaps them when he’s in the bathroom though, not just because he needs the privacy, but also because he’s sure Steve wouldn’t understand.

It’s a source of vulnerability for him.

Tony sighs and pushes the memories far back, locking them away like he’s always done. He goes to rinse off his mask in the kitchen sink since Steve is still in the shower. Then he returns back to his spot at the island counter to continue his project. It keeps him preoccupied until Steve exits the bathroom, a billow of steam wafting behind him, looking dressed and ready for bed.

Tony doesn’t plan on getting any sleep tonight. No, not with his mind firing on all cylinders like it is. Which is exactly what he says to Steve when the older man asks if he’s ready for bed.

“I can be quiet,” Tony promises when Steve’s face twists in a concerned but vaguely amused frown. “Or I can work in the bathroom.”

“I don’t want that,” Steve firmly states, all amusement vanishing as his side of the bond colors in ivory whites and greys, like it sometimes does when Steve gets indignant on his behalf. “Honestly, it’s not a problem. I’m just worried about you not getting the sleep that you need, but I’m not going to demand bedrest like some kind of knothead. It’s fine, really. I’ve got this sleep mask I can wear over my eyes, and I’m not worried about you making noise. We live in a city, there’s always noise. At this point, I could fall asleep to the sound of a jackhammer just as easily as I could fall asleep to the sound of breaching whales.”

Tony stares at him evenly for a few beats of silence that almost feel like an eternity because several things happen at once. His heartbeat slows down, and while his body doesn’t turn into jelly pudding, it’s a close thing.

Steve’s eyes have never looked more beautiful at that moment, shining with sincerity. His jaw is set like he’s just made a sacred vow, but he somehow manages to keep his soft sweetness because of his bare feet alone. His arms are crossed and his shoulders are squared.

“Tony?”

Oops. Normal conversations are usually two-sided.

Tony clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse when he says, “You’re spoiling me, Rogers.”

“You don’t exactly make it challenging, Rogers,” Steve volleys back with a half-grin while his side of the bond bursts in dark hues of orange. “But to be honest, an idiot like me can see how passionate you are about this mystery project you’re working on. I’m not gonna disrupt that. You probably wouldn't even get sleep if I made you lie next to me. I just hope you listen to your body when it lets you know you need some shut-eye.”

“Give me more credit than that,” Tony replies, surprised that his voice sounds so steady when it literally feels like he’s got eels squirming in his gut. “I don’t think you’re a moron at all.”

Steve laughs. “That’s funny but humor me about the sleeping thing, please.”

“Yes, Steve, I will listen to my body as best as I can about when it’s asking for _shut-eye_.”

“Great. Then you and I are square.” Steve relaxes his stance. “Goodnight, honey. See you in the morning.”

Tony pinches his own thigh to offset the surge of arousal he always gets whenever the Alpha uses that particular term of endearment. His cheeks color as he murmurs, “Goodnight.”

Steve’s already walking around the apartment lighting the sporadically placed candles. He says, “Don’t worry about burning these out or starting a fire, they're in fire-resistant holders but there should be a fire hydrant under the kitchen sink in case of emergencies.”

“Won’t you have to buy more if I use them up?”

Steve shakes his head as he rooting around the drawer in the nightstand next to their bed. “Nope. Don’t sweat it. Buddy of mine at work runs a candle-making workshop in the classroom next to mine, and he always hooks me up with a box of any of the castaways. There should also be a camp lantern and a flashlight in that toolbox if you need extra light.”

Tony smiles to himself, not only because of the triumphant sound Steve makes when he locates a silk sleep eye-mask but also because of his Alpha’s amazing consideration. He turns away before Steve can see how ridiculous he looks with a goofy smile on his face. He listens to the other man walk around a little bit more before settling into bed.

“Goodnight. For real this time.”

Tony snorts as he boots up Steve’s laptop. “Goodnight, Steve. Sweet dreams.”

“Oh, alright. But only because you say so.”

Tony shakes his head as he successfully locates the lines and lines of code that will help him understand the ins and outs of the device he’s using. When he’s able to determine his options by mentally graphing the oscillations of its ability of call and response, he decides he’ll be better off building a second computer by scratch.

However, in the meantime, he can still use Steve’s laptop to start building the code for the AI he’s been toying around with for years, but was never brave enough to actually create back at Stark Tower. It wouldn’t have been safe because if his godfather wouldn’t have stolen the idea, his father might have.

He feels safe here with Steve. He feels free.

He takes a moment to glance back at the Alpha. The slow rise and fall confirm that the other man is already deeply asleep, his side of the bond is quiet, shimmering in blacks and whites like it usually does when Steve is dreaming. He huffs in fond amusement at the sight of him before turning away to face Steve’s laptop again.

He pulls up a code editor alongside a compiler before he wanders over to the fridge to grab a few cans of energy drinks that he had easily convinced Steve to buy for him while they were at the supermarket. He sets the cans next to the laptop before he wanders over to the closet to fish out his mechanical metronome. He needs it for focus. If he can’t blast heavy metal, then using the triangular metal-plated device is the next best thing.

He returns to his spot at the island counter and puts the metronome at a pace of 74 bpm.

Tony closes his eyes as he takes a moment to drain the first can of his energy drinks, letting the steady ticking wash over him before he cracks his neck, his knuckles, his wrists, and even his toes. Then his fingers are flying a mile a minute over the keyboard.

He likes playing around with code, with varying object-oriented paradigms languages, with syntax and algorithms, but he hated the proofreading he had to do after.

He’s a perfectionist at heart, something that was probably genetic, as his parents are of a similar nature. So when he spots mistakes that he should have caught in the beginning, it sometimes frustrates him to the point of rewriting the whole damn program.

Tony finds he could draw parallels between the ritual of coding and the ocean. Both are vast and deep, easy to sink deep down into and get lost in, easy to constantly drown.

He spends the rest of the night crafting, rewriting, and revising his AI’s interface, lines of data, debugging features, and arrays. The rhythm turns into a vacuum, sucking him in and deafening the rest of the world.

Tony literally blinks, and it’s suddenly morning, Steve’s alarm screaming from his nightstand to confirm this fact.

Steve makes a disgruntled sound that Tony snorts at as he stands to stretch and watch the way Steve is silently mouthing a pep talk to get out of bed to himself.

Tony kind of wishes he had even a clue about how to cook so he could make breakfast for his husband. But as is, he doesn’t want to accidentally poison the Alpha in an attempt. He makes a mental note to watch a few YouTube tutorials about how to make scrambled eggs later on.

Steve finally sits up when a second alarm goes off. He yanks his sleep mask off, looking adorably rumpled and annoyed with his own phone. He quiets his phone with a bone-cracking yawn before he blinks wetly.

Tony nearly melts at the sight.

“Wow.” Steve’s voice even sounds charmingly hoarse with sleep. “You really did stay up all night, huh?”

“It only felt like an hour to me if that helps.”

Steve laughs shortly before throwing his covers back and dropping his feet to the floor. He stands and rubs his eyes tiredly.

Tony gets hit with a sudden thought. “It’s Monday.”

“Hm?” Steve murmurs, still rubbing at his eyes.

“It’s Monday, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles before dropping his hands to blink at Tony with sleepy confusion. “I only like to sleep in on the weekends. I try and use Monday to try and recalibrate my sleep schedule so I won't suffer for it later. I have a few things I’d like to get done before my work week starts. Namely, getting you a set of keys for the apartment.”

“Are stores open this early?” Tony asks, following him into the bathroom before he can talk himself out of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He just goes through his morning routine like usual, starting with brushing his teeth. “Yeah, but I’m not going to the store right now. I wanted to do a few laps on the runner’s path at the local park. Cardio usually helps me wake up since I can’t stomach caffeine.”

Tony perks up at that, grabbing his toothbrush as well and accepting the tube of toothpaste when it’s offered to him. “Oh? You mind company?”

Steve smiles around his toothbrush at Tony’s reflection. “When it comes to you? Never,” he promises.

Tony goes a bit pink while he brushes. “Brave words. You need to spend more time with me before you say things like that,” he playfully warns.  

“Whoa, easy, tiger. I’m married,” Steve mock-scolds with an affronted look that’s definitely exaggerated.

Tony snorts and nearly chokes on his toothpaste.

It shouldn’t be possible for anyone to look smug with that much foam around their mouth but Steve somehow manages it against all odds.

Tony rolls his eyes, spits, rinses and grabs his hairbrush on the way out of the bathroom. He takes the time to swap out his clothes, putting the ones from yesterday in the hamper Steve keeps in their closet.

Steve is exiting the bathroom, thankfully, just when Tony finds he desperately needs to empty his bladder. When he returns, Steve is already by the door, lacing up his shoes.

“Do you mind if wear my rollerblades?” Tony asks and when Steve shakes his head absentmindedly as he swipes through his phone, Tony grabs them.

Steve patiently waits for him to lace up and carefully glide to the front door. He looks up at Tony with a smile. “You might want to grab a light jacket,” he suggests. “It’s still in the low for today.”

Tony takes the time to notice that Steve’s wearing both a cardigan and a windbreaker, so he takes the advice to heart by grabbing one of his hoodies and sliding it on.

Steve gives an approving nod before gesturing for Tony to exit the apartment first so he can do it last and he locks the door once they are both out.

They ride the elevator down for Tony’s sake, and soon he’s gliding freely on the sidewalks, circling Steve gracefully a few times as the code that’s been running laps in his mind fades to the backend of his thoughts.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Steve comments when they hit the beginning of the runner’s path that winds through and around the local park. “Definitely better at it than I am.”

“I love skating,” Tony simply says, skating in circles around a water fountain while Steve pauses at a nearby bench to take a moment to stretch. “Trust me, I’m not good by choice. It was maybe like one of the only three outdoor recreational activities they let us do at my boarding school. It’s either you rollerblade through the garden maze, or you join either the agriculture, badminton, or swim club. I like plants but I don’t love them. I can’t use a racket without giving myself a concussion. And I sink like a stone in large quantities of water. Ergo: rollerblades. Can you really not skate?”

“Not at all,” Steve confesses as he starts a light walking jog. “I’m all elbows and knees.”

Tony snorts while he casually skates backward in front of Steve. “I bet you’d do just fine if you had the right teacher,” he reasons.

“You offering?” Steve grins at him while his side of the bond blooms in different shades of orange.

“Maybe. How will you be paying for my services?”

“Cinnamon rolls and orange juice for breakfast?”

“Deal.” Tony smirks and twists away to face forward. “But I would have done it for free.”

“Capitalism wins again,” Steve sighs.

Tony laughs so loud that he startles a few birds from a nearby tree.

.

.

.

It’s two hours before they return to the apartment, sweaty and slightly out of breath.

Steve gives Tony the luxury of claiming the first shower, waving off Tony’s concern as he sucks away at his inhaler.

Tony doesn’t want to say that he still frets about it while he’s in the shower, but if pressed, he will admit that he’s relieved to see that Steve’s lips are no longer blue by the time he exits.

“There’s a plate of cinnamon rolls in the oven and the orange juice is in the fridge,” Steve says, a hint of pinkness to his cheeks at the sight of Tony with nothing but a towel around his waist. He doesn’t let his gaze linger before he’s quickly disappearing in the bathroom.

Tony locates the plate of food easily after he gets dressed and clears it just as quickly. When his eyes grow heavy, he just downs another energy drink and that takes care of that.

Steve reappears looking dressed and ready for the day while Tony is making his side of the bed, the action a bit more fluid compared to a couple of days ago. “So I was thinking about stopping by the hardware store and getting you a set of keys made. If you wanted, since the place is near one of the banks we’ve been eyeing, we could check it out. What do you say?”

“I say that’s fine.” Tony’s wrist has been aching terribly since last night, and at this point, he can no longer ignore it. “How’s your Bite?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s fine. Why?”

“I, uh … was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me out with mine?”

“Yeah, I don't mind. Is it bothering you, honey? C’mere.” Steve sits down at the bottom edge of the bed.

Tony goes over, in spite of his racing heart, which is beating like a galloping horse. He stands between Steve’s knees and watches with lower lids as his Alpha carefully peels away the bandage.

Steve makes a sympathetic sound when he sees how red the skin around his Bite is. “It looks like it’s healing just fine. Might be time we start letting them breathe. Try and hold still for me.” He lowers his head and starts to lick thoroughly at his wrist.

Tony inhales sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as small sparks of pleasure tingle up and down his arm. He makes a small sound as Steve’s warm tongue swirls and sways, wiping away any pain and irritation that tries to linger, replacing it with a tingling numbness.

“How’s that?” Steve asks, pulling away slightly, but he takes the time to stamp a few gentle kisses to the area.

Tony tries to wrestle down a smile at that, fidgeting shyly. “Much better. Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve says between kisses.

Tony squirms. “Steve …”

“Hm?” Steve still kissing his wrist like he doesn’t plan on stopping.

Tony blushes and tries to pull his arm away. “If you keep doing that, I’ll have to excuse myself,” he warns hoarsely.

Steve stops immediately, pulling back with a concerned look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tony fidgets again. “It’s - it feels good. Maybe a little too good. I don’t want to - I’m trying not to - _Steve!_ ”

Steve is pulling him down so he’s sitting in the Alpha’s lap.

Tony has to wind his arms around Steve’s small shoulders, afraid he might teeter onto the floor.

“Talk to me. Tell me why feeling good bothers you,” Steve implores with an earnest expression, giving Tony his full attention. “I noticed you shy away when you … get a little excited. You know that’s perfectly natural, right?”

“That’s not what I was taught,” Tony mumbles with pink cheeks, trying not to squirm. He’s actually sitting as stiffly as possible.

Steve notices because of course he does. He begins to carefully rub soothing circles into Tony’s lower back until the Omega has no choice but to relax into it. “You don’t have to explain why if you don’t want to, but I’d like to understand.”

“No, it’s … fine,” Tony murmurs, getting a little drowsy as he focuses on the way Steve sweeps his hand up and down the length of his spine. “There’s this thing they used to teach us back in boarding school …”

Steve listens with a set jaw as Tony explains his source of discomfort and shame.

Tony’s physically relaxed because Steve’s hands are like magic but his gut is still twisting nervously. He’s finished his tale of woe but the other man hasn’t said anything yet, though his side of the bond is crackling thunderously with blacks and greys, tinged ever so slightly with despairing blues.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Humans are social creatures. Sometimes we need to feel connected to others. The whole point of intimacy is to serve each other in growth and love, hopefully in better ways than we can serve ourselves. I’ll say this as many times as I need to: you are more than the sum of your parts, Tony. You don’t have to punish yourself for how you feel.”

“Easier said than done.”

Steve huffs. “Yeah. That’s also true, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” he counters.

Tony shrugs when all he wants to do is hug Steve.

“I don’t judge you for it either, so don’t think I see you as any less, because I really don’t. If I can be honest, I like knowing I’m the source of your conflict. But we can work on getting you to a place where you’re comfortable with it too. Maybe start with you not hurting yourself whenever you get excited.”

Tony flushes. “It feels strange not to. It’s second nature now.”

“Then maybe we replace the habit with positive reinforcement.”

“What would -” Tony doesn’t get to finish before Steve is kissing him, softly, gently, reverently. He pulls back with a squeak, slapping a hand over his mouth as he stares at Steve wide-eyed. “Was that your - your _tongue?_ Your tongue went in my mouth, oh my god. Is that even legal?”

Steve laughs, a hue of pink spreading across his face. “French kissing is very common,” he assures.

Tony’s heart is galloping again, and he has to squeeze his thighs together when he gets a little wet. His blush deepens when Steve wraps an arm around his waist to keep him from running off.

“Just wait a moment,” Steve implores and loosens his grip when he’s sure Tony won’t flee. He goes back to rubbing soothing circles in the Omega’s lower back.

Tony feels himself soak up the contact greedily, melting into the touch, and he loses himself to it a bit.

“Okay?” Steve asks, watching his face closely and he smiles a little when Tony nods shyly. “See, you’re fine. The world didn’t end because you got turned on.”

Tony snorts and rubs at his face tiredly. “Guess not,” he mumbles from behind his hands. “Still feels weird.”

“I’m sure it will for a while, but then someday it won't,” Steve promises. “I’m thinking if we do a little skin-on-skin bonding, it might help you feel more comfortable with me.”

Tony nods and stands, taking off his shirt.

Steve chokes a bit. “Oh, I - was mostly thinking later. But, now is fine too.” He scrambles to his feet and tosses off his own shirt as they climb into bed together.

Tony appreciates the fact that Steve wordlessly lets him arrange their pillows in a way that would cradle them together. It’s his nesting instincts roaring up inside of him in response to how anxious and nervous he feels.

Steve lies back when Tony gestures for him to do so and waits with open arms until Tony curls up against him, resting his head on the groove of Steve’s shoulder while he hugs Steve's middle.

Tony knows he must be stiff as a board, he can’t really help it. He’s all nerves, fighting down the voices in his head that are telling him that he’s misbehaving, that he’s being too wanton, too indecent.

“I can feel you thinking,” Steve murmurs into the crown of his head. He combs his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Whatever it is, if it’s negative, it’s not true. I don’t think any less of you for needing this. You know why? Because I need it too, honey.”

Tony shudders at the words and tries to blink away the tears that come. He ends up rubbing his face back and forth against Steve’s chest to dry whatever leaks out, grateful that Steve doesn’t call attention to it. He just continues to murmur soothingly until Tony feels his muscles slowly turn into goo and a cluster of butterflies start dancing in his guts.

“If you ever feel too ashamed to ask for this, we can do a compromise,” Steve says softly. “If you can be straightforward about what you need, I’ll tell you one embarrassing story from my childhood. I have plenty of them. That way we can be embarrassed together. Equal footing.”

Tony sniffs a little and hides his smiles by ducking his head a little lower, glad that it pushes his head more into Steve’s hand. “I’m, uh, feeling pretty embarrassed right now?”

Steve seemed to be smiling, though Tony didn’t dare to look to confirm, lest he gives away the game. Steve’s side of the bond starts fluttering in different shades of oranges. “Can’t have that, can we? Let’s see. Why don’t I tell you about the time Sam and Bucky tricked me into wearing a clown costume to Bucky’s cousin’s bat mitzvah?” and he begins the tale.

Tony hangs onto every word and laughs until his ribs ache. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but it happens.

Steve slips away at one point, taking care to bundle him up with the covers and running a few fingers through Tony's hair as he murmurs, “I’m going to go get your keys made while it’s still early daylight. You stay. I’ll be back.”

“Wanna come,” Tony mumbles without opening his eyes. “Gimme a sec.”

Steve chuckles softly and kisses his temple. “Sleep, I’ll be back. Then we can visit those banks, alright?”

“Fine,” Tony pouts, already drifting.

“You act as if I'm being terrible to you but I know I'm not,” Steve comments wryly, kissing his temple again before pulling away with a reluctant sigh that warms Tony completely to the core.

Tony listens to Steve shuffle around the apartment before he rolls himself tighter in the sheets and furrows a little deeper inside the cocoon of it. He tries to ignore the way his stomach swoops unhappily when he hears the front door shut, signaling Steve’s exit, his keys jingling while the gears for the locks snap into place.

He grumpily falls back into the abyss of his exhaustion and he dreams about the first time he can get Howard to really look at him as a son.

He’s a 2-year-old when it happens, discovering his first circuit board while he toddled around his father’s workshop, back when Howard still let him invade the space without question. He does things with that circuit board that no toddler really should be able to do.

But Howard was fond enough of this fact that he brags about it at every dinner party he drags him and his mother to.

It doesn’t last long of course.

After that, he and Howard can’t seem to agree on anything, and he spends most nights wishing he was adopted.

.

.

.

Tony wakes with a jerk, feeling pleasantly smothered and warm while Steve’s scent overpowers him. He rubs his thighs together as a low simmer of arousal buzzes through his system. He almost forgets himself as he slides a hand down to cup over his hardening cock before he jerks his hand back, shame slamming into his body before he can remember to ignore it. He pinches his own thigh and the sting of pain, as well as the memory of a sea of judging eyes, makes him go soft immediately.

He sighs in frustration when he realizes what he’s done - falling back into old habits. He’s glad Steve isn’t here to witness it, but at the same time, he wishes the Alpha was so he can help him wrestle away the shame and the guilt. He sighs again before climbing out from all the layers he’s bundled in and distracts himself by making the bed.

The clock on the nightstand says it’s pushing a little past noon.

It takes a few tries, and he falls off of the bed plenty, though lesser than normal, but in the end, he’s able to stand back with a sense of accomplishment of what he’s done. He runs his tongue across his teeth, liking the wet scrape of it, the rough difference in texture, focusing on that rather than how much he’s starting to miss Steve.

Sighing for maybe the millionth time, Tony turns to go and start building the multi-core processor he plans on implementing for the new laptop he’s going to build from scratch. He doesn’t want to start working on his phone, or even continue where he left off with his AI’s interface and code, not when he knows he’ll be disrupted at any time.

Steve returns just as Tony has at least 20% of the CPU developed. He wanders over with a smile. “Hey, how did you sleep?”

“Efficiently,” Tony supposes distractedly with a shrug. “How was your walk?”

“Fruitful. Here.” Steve hands over his set of keys.

Tony puts down the tools in his hands with a laugh. The keychain his keys are attached to is a small Spider-Man toy that lights up.

Steve is gifting him with a pleased half-grin. “Saw it and thought of you. What do you think?”

“I love it.”

“Yeah? Figured you might. Plus this will help us from getting our keys mixed up. Here, let me show you which is which. That one is for the mailbox, that one is for the gate to the dumpsters, this one is for the laundry room, and this silver one is for our door. That last set there is for Ma’s.”

Tony glances up at him sharply for that.

“You’re family now,” Steve explains, shouldering that look comfortably. “Ma insisted when I talked to her during the walk to the hardware store. She said you can use it whenever you need it, or at least if I’m being a blockhead and you wanna get away.”

Tony snorts because he can’t ever foresee something like that happening but he nods nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Steve glances at the clock on the stove. “You ready to do some adulting? Bank might be a bit busy considering the time and the fact that it’s Monday.”

“I’m ready. Let me grab my shoes.”

Steve’s prediction ends up being true when they enter the first bank that’s about ten blocks from where they live. He tells Tony that it’ll be easier to go to the bank that’s the furthest so that they can just stop by the second one, which is way closer to home, on their way back.

Tony’s just glad that it’s not as hot out as it was yesterday, settling his concerns over Steve and his asthma.

Anyway, the bank is crowded like Steve said it would be, different people making withdrawals and deposits. They have to sit for about thirty minutes before a rep can speak with them.

The bank rep, a Beta, is nice and polite, being as transparent as possible about what the bank can offer for them. Things are going well, and it seems like this might be the place that they go with. That is until the rep states Tony would not be able to, under any circumstances, be solely responsible for his own account. They go on to say that Steve _had to_   _be_ listed as an authorized user.

Steve isn’t having it. He still thanks the rep for their time, declining the offer of candy or a business card, and ushers Tony out the door.

Tony smiles indulgently as Steve rants on their walk to the next bank about the audacity of some folks forcing stipulations like _that_ on people.

“I’d understand if you were underage,” Steve goes on to say, the back of his neck a little red from the heat, the walk, and his aggravation. “But you’re a grown man! How can they just force their customers to agree with something so belittling? I oughta write a letter t' their CEO and -”

“Okay, okay,” Tony laughs, patting Steve on the back before pulling away. “I appreciate the righteous indignation on my behalf, but I think you’ve got the right idea by not investing your money there. That’s more effective than a letter.”

“Oh, I’m not investing our money there, even if they begged. Still gonna write that letter though,” Steve insists with a disgruntled frown.

Tony doesn’t bother mentioning that he could probably monopolize that bank's firewalls and release all their confidential records to the general public if he wanted to, but he figures Steve’s methods are a lot more civil, and less jail inducing.

“Hang on,” Steve pauses at a hotdog stand. “I just remembered you said you’ve never had one of these before. I’m pretty famished, what about you?”

Tony nods and watches Steve order them a pair, making pleasant small chat with the guy manning the food stand. He pays for them and hands over one to Tony as they continue their trek.

Steve snorts around the first bite when he notices how studiously Tony is eyeing the toppings. “Spicy brown mustard and sauerkraut,” he clarifies.

“Ah.” Tony takes the first bite and loves it. So much so that he doesn’t eat as gracefully as he should.

Steve just tsks with an affectionate smile and takes the time to help Tony clean the mustard off of his chin when they pause at the next crosswalk. “I take it you approve,” he teases.

“That was fucking incredible,” Tony confirms and bats away Steve’s hands. “The next time we go shopping, can we get some of those?”

“Of course. Though I think we should have you try chili dogs,” Steve reasons with an amused grin, pressing a warm hand on Tony’s lower back to usher him forward with the crowd when the signal changes. “Those are always my first pick, but I prefer homemade rather than the batches they make on the street.”

“Can’t wait.”

The second bank, the one that’s only four blocks from their apartment, is a little less crowded but a lot more artsy and laid back. And the most surprising thing of all is that it is owned and ran solely by Omegas. That wasn’t the information that had been listed on their website, but Tony can understand the need for discretion. Omega-owned businesses usually have a tough time of it, whether harassment from the government or from vicious and sexist vandalism.

Tony ends up doing most of the talking in all his enthusiasm, but Steve doesn’t appear to mind at all, taking a backseat to the whole process.

The bank rep that talks to them assure them after Tony explains what happened at the last bank, that he would have full control of his own account with no secondary authorized user required. The rep even promises that if they open up the accounts then and there, the bank would deposit up to five hundred dollars in each one they open, not including savings.

Tony looks hopefully at Steve, who grins back and says, “Yeah, I’ll make some calls. Excuse me.”

“Your husband is really accommodating,” the rep comments carefully when Steve is out of earshot.

Tony is well versed in Omega-speak and understands well enough the underlying question there. He replies, “He thinks of us as a team.”

The rep seems to relax and smiles at that. “We have a few partners that sponsor us that would be more than happy to provide any resources you need if that should ever change.”

Tony smiles back sadly and thinks of how many other Omegas there must have been that actually had needed it. “Thanks,” _but I don’t think it will ever change,_ he adds silently.

The rep nods again and when Steve returns, they begin the process of starting the paperwork.

Tony and Steve leave sometime later, both of them five hundred dollars richer than when they first arrived.

Tony takes that as just another positive sign that marrying Steve is the best thing that could have happened to him.

.

.

.

“There’s a Neighborhood Watch meeting tonight,” Steve announces from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sketching something he says he’s not ready for Tony to see just yet.

Tony has circled back to building his CPU from his designated spot at the island counter. “Oh yeah? I’m sure you’re expected, what with being - how did Happy put it - second-in-command?” he quips and smiles when he hears the other man scoff.

“Don’t put too much weight on what Mr. Hogan says. It's really not like that. Anyway, I thought you’d like to join me when I go. It’d give you a chance to meet more people.”

“You trying to show me off, Rogers?” Tony teases, twisting around to watch the way Steve grins to himself as he continues to keep his gaze on what he’s drawing.

“Not opposed to the idea, but mostly, I don’t want you to feel cooped up here. We hold the meetings at the Rec Center where I work. There’s an activity board I thought you might like to check out. It has all the local events and clubs posted. You might find something of interest.”

Tony wonders why Steve’s side of the bond is suddenly flushed with the deepest of orange hues. “You’d be okay with me going off and doing my own thing?”

Steve shoots him an ‘of course, I would’ look before returning his gaze to the sketch pad in his hands.

Tony chuckles. “Just checking. Yeah, I’ll tag along when you go.”

They leave a little after dinner, Steve insisting that Tony break in his new keys by locking up behind them so he can get into the habit of it. Tony doesn’t mind at all.

They spend the walk to the bus stop talking about whatever comes to mind, never running out of topics once during the whole journey it takes to get to the Rec Center.

Tony marvels at how big the building is while they approach.

It’s three stories huge, and Tony could have almost mistaken it for a public high school if he didn’t already know better. It’s just as well kept and maintained on the inside as the clean premises on the outside indicates.

When they surpass the U-shaped main desk in the lobby area, Steve guides him over to the events board just like he said he would.

Tony is vaguely aware that he’s tugging on Steve’s jacket sleeve with garbled excitement when he spots a flyer that reads: _The Eccentric Engineers Club - Build, blast, and boogie._

Instead of being annoyed by the persistent tugging, Steve just laughs like he’s charmed and tugs Tony’s sleeve back, miming his excitement as well.

“Oh my god, did you know?” Tony asks in a rush, nearly breathless, suddenly remembering the way Steve’s side of the bond started to burst with different shades of orange when he first brought up the event board. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Ah.” Steve lets his sleeve go so he can rub the knuckles of his right hand up and down the line of his own jaw. “The guy that actually runs our local Neighborhood Watch is the president of that club. I wasn’t, you know, a hundred percent sure that you’d be interested but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have you see it was an option.”

Tony wipes his expression clean when he says, “Take me to the bathroom.”

Steve looks worried but he nods and guides him to a unisex bathroom, then he looks startled when Tony tugs him inside and locks the door behind them.

“I want to kiss you, okay?” Tony warns, heart pounding and blood rushing to his ears. “I - I couldn’t out there. I’m not - not ready for anything like that, but. Here is ... it’s better. Please kiss me.”

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice. He walks forward and when he’s close enough, Tony is the one to cradle his face in his shaky hands, slotting their mouths together like two jigsaw pieces that fit together perfectly.

It’s a close-mouthed kiss but it still makes Tony’s knees buckle at the promise of realness, at the primal desire that fizzles between them.

Steve fists his hands in the back of Tony’s jacket and clutches him close with a desperate sound that sends shivers through the Omega. And then he’s suddenly invading Tony’s mouth, taking him apart with every stroke of his tongue, knocking the wind from Tony’s lungs.

Tony pulls back with a strangled gasp when he feels himself get strongly and deeply wet in a way that he’s never experienced outside of Heat. He flushes when Steve’s nostrils flare and his pupils blow wide, his cock twitching against where it’s pressed against Tony’s thigh.

“Oh,” Tony weakly says as his flush deepens. “Oh, Steve - you - you’re _hard_.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs breathlessly, his voice low and gravely in a way that makes Tony’s cock twitch in response. “That’s my response to finding something really fucking hot. That has a tendency of including you.”

Tony’s too busy laughing in near hysterical outrage to truly respond. He feels a little lightheaded from that kiss, from the scent of their pheromones intermingling in such a confined space. His heart is thrashing against his ribcage like it’s doing the tango. But, god, there’s no shame for once, no guilt.  

Steve pulls him close and they spend a few minutes hugging in silence.

Tony has his forehead tucked against the side of Steve’s neck. “You said a bad word,” he mumbles after a while. “I can only count on one hand the numbers of times you’ve done that.”

“I swear now and again like anyone else,” Steve replies, tracing his fingers gently up and down Tony’s spine. “Just maybe not as often. Only do it when it feels natural.”

Tony hums thoughtfully.

“We should get going. Before we're late,” Steve says after a while.

Tony pulls away and takes the time to straighten Steve’s clothes in excuse to put his hands (and his scent) all over him before he side-steps Steve’s attempt to do the same with a sly grin.

Steve makes an aggrieved noise but crosses his arms and watches through lowered lids as Tony fixes his own clothes.

That gaze hits Tony like a thrill, and it makes him feel intoxicatingly powerful in a way that he knows he will never forget. He swallows dryly and clears his throat, maintaining a polite distance he needs yet despises. He says, “Ready when you are.”

They don’t hold hands, Tony still doesn’t feel brave enough for that. But when they exit out a side entrance towards the picnic sites, hands in the pockets of their jackets, their elbows brush every once in a while. It’s innocent in nature but it still feels like an intimate kiss to Tony, intentional on his part, and Steve’s as well, much to his secret pleasure.

There’s a bonfire, the mound large and warm enough to swallow the slightly chilly night air around it. The shadows of the evening are stretched like a canopy of a cloudy night sky above them. Tony finds it fascinating the way those flames flutter and glow dancing reds, oranges, and golds. Every eye in the area reflects the flickering, each iris containing a small picture of the bonfire. Tony finds the crackling and the woody fragrance of smoke intriguing as well.

So much so that it takes him a minute to realize that everyone is standing around, socializing with skewers that have a line of impaled marshmallows with chocolate sauce and bits of graham crackers sprinkled over them.

Steve grabs them a couple, taking the time to introduce Tony to everyone while they eat them, and each person is courteous and friendly, but they do stare at him quite a bit in a way that makes Steve’s side of the bond flip-flop between grassy greens and ivory whites.

Tony smiles at the fact that Steve has an amazing poker face about it, not letting on at all that the staring is bothering him, and he feels like he wouldn’t have known either if it weren’t for their bond. He brushes his elbow against Steve's and watches smugly as he settles.

Steve takes the time to introduce Tony to a man by the name of Aaron Davis, the person in charge of the Neighborhood Watch. “He likes to build too,” he adds. "In the way that you do."

“That right?” Aaron’s smile gets a bit more relaxed and friendly. “I just happen to have a club where we do something of the same. How about it, huh? You think you might be swinging by? We recently lost a member to MIT, but I ain't mad at it. Makes me proud to know that I'm helping the kids out here make something of themselves, and hope for better. More than I got coming up. I’m self-learned if you know what I mean. But anyway, you should definitely come through. What you think?”

“Yeah, I would - yeah.” Tony nods and feels a bit stupid for it. He tries again. “I would very much be interested in seeing what you guys get up to.”

“Aight, that’s good. You won't regret it, we all friendly. You gone get tired of us real quick, you just watch. See you Friday.” Aaron gives them a parting nod, signaling to everyone that the meeting’s getting ready to begin.

Tony sits at the end of a bench with Steve pressing distractingly against the warm line of his side in order to make room for others. He folds his hands in his lap to keep himself from giving in to the temptation of placing one of them on Steve’s thigh, but he does lean a little more into Steve’s side.

Steve’s lips curl a bit, though he keeps his eyes forward, his side of the bond dancing in shades of pinks and oranges and reds as he pretends to stretch and puts his arm on the back of the bench behind Tony.

Tony doesn’t laugh but it’s a near thing as he shakes his head slightly with an exasperatedly amused smirk. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, low enough that he doesn’t draw attention to them while Aaron updates them all on the happenings of the neighborhood.

“How do you mean?” Steve retorts innocently as his lips curl even more while the tips of his fingers lightly brush the side of Tony’s arm.

Tony wrestles down the smile that threatens to overtake his mouth and just shushes the other man.

The rest of the meeting goes accordingly, or Tony assumes it does since he doesn’t have any basis to think otherwise. Everyone basically talks about their corner of the neighborhood, how it’s doing, the level of crime they have witnessed or heard about on the news, things they are doing to combat it all and keep their area safe.

It turns out that while Steve isn’t actually second-in-command, he is the section leader of his area, and when he stands to talk about it, he commands the attention of every eye and every ear.

Tony is taken by the way his Alpha shoulders their regard like a prince would his own crown. It’s at that moment that Tony truly recognizes the greatness of what Steve _could do_ if given the right platform. He has an elegant mastery of speech that Tony thinks could rival even Lincoln.

He watches his husband thrive in his element and feels a surge of pride.

.

.

.

Later that night, while Steve is fast asleep in their bed, sleep mask firmly in place over his eyes, Tony is struck with the inspiration to finish up the last of the coding for his AI, his mechanical metronome swaying in the background at 88 bpm. He proofreads it three times, editing whatever jumps out at him as he downs a couple of energy drinks until he’s jittery with synthetic energy.

He finds satisfaction with the program when it’s pushing past three in the morning, saves a few back-ups to a few thumb drives, and sets the system to reboot in six hours, though it kills him to have to wait that long.

He decides to pass the time by going back to building the rest of the CPU for the new laptop. He finishes it in three hours and moves on to constructing all other computer hardware components.

A few more energy drinks later, Steve’s alarm is screaming in the background, and his Alpha is doing that thing he does where he quietly pep talks himself out of bed.

Tony smiles over it when it makes it through his engineering haze.

Sometime later, Steve reappears in the kitchen looking nicely dressed for the day, and he’s asking about Tony’s metronome over a bowl of honey nut cheerios.

“Helps me concentrate,” Tony explains distractedly as he uses a hands-free magnifying glass (along with a few other tools he knew he’d absolutely need) he stole from the Tower when he and Jarvis were packing on his wedding day. He’s putting together the motherboard with the help of a stainless steel stencil and solder paste. “Gives me something to focus on if I don’t have music.”

Steve makes a thoughtful sound at that, watching him curiously for a moment before he drains his bowl of the leftover soy milk and places the empty dish in the sink. He takes a moment to write down his number and uses one of the refrigerator magnets to stick it to the freezer door. He encourages Tony to use it if he needs anything and tells him that any of his neighbors on this floor are nice enough to let him use their phone if Tony hasn’t gotten around to finish building his own.

Tony nods distractedly but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He grabs a dark blue messenger bag, taking the time to kiss Tony on the temple, effectively pulling him out of his haze as a blush crawls up the back of his neck. He returns Steve’s goodbye with a strangled tone, rooted to the spot even long after the blond has left.

When he tries to shake it off and get back to work, he finds it near to impossible, so he gives up with a sigh and decides to give himself a break by relieving his bladder and going through his morning routine.

After a quick spin in the shower and a fresh change of clothes, Tony finds his inspiration again. He takes a quick moment to check on his cactus, Drew, and give him a little water, adjusting the blinds to let the sunlight through when Steve’s laptop chimes, letting him know the reboot is complete. He’s eagerly circling back to it when there comes an unexpected knock on the door.

Tony frowns curiously but goes to see who it is through the peephole and freezes.

It’s his mom.


	7. YEAR 1: PART VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - should I do the next chapter in Steve's POV? 
> 
> Don't be afraid to rec my story. I can use as many readers as I can get. :)

Tony continues to watch Maria from the other side of the door. She’s wrapped in fur and jewels, poised and composed, not a hair out of a place. She’s everything Tony was taught an Omega is supposed to be. Elegant. Refined. Subservient.

“I know you are there, Anthony,” Maria says, looking at the door like she can see right through it while Tony stiffens. She glances pointedly down at where his feet are casting shadows on the bottom of the door.

Right. Stupid. Going toe to toe with his mother was always like playing chess. And she was a professional.

“Well, if you won’t let me in, then come out,” Maria goes on to say.

Tony doesn't move. He barely breathes.

“Really now, Anthony. Don’t be rude. I raised you better than that.”

Tony presses his forehead to the door quietly as his shaking hands curl into fists. He closes his eyes as his heart rocks unsteadily in his chest.

Maria sighs. “Your father is in Thailand. He has no idea about your little indiscretion over the weekend. Lucky for you, it was me that received the correspondence of your _happy news_.”

Tony focuses on breathing. In and out. In and out.

“I had Jarvis drive me out,” Maria remarks after a while. “Wouldn’t you like to see the old goat? I know you’ve always had a certain sort of … _softness_ for him.”

Tony clenches his jaw at her jealous, bitter tone. How dare she? She’s never taken any interest in him, never once showed him more affection then breastfeeding him when he was a babe, never comforted him when he had nightmares so bad that he wet the bed. Never allowed him the pleasure of cooking with Jarvis, claiming it was despicable, that he was a Stark and they don't use their hands, they pay others for that kind of work.

“My patience is growing thin,” Maria warns. “I’m giving you exactly fifteen minutes to get yourself together and meet me at the car. I’d hate to have to say something to your father that might possibly cause him and Obadiah to shorten their business trip. You know how cranky Alphas are when you interrupt a hunt. Why not consider your options, _dearest,_  before being so boldly disrespectful.”

Tony nearly bites his tongue at that. He waits until he hears the unmistakable clicking of her high-end heels departing from the door. He wants to curl in bed, wrap himself in Steve’s sheets to the near point of suffocation and wait for his Alpha to get home. But he knows he can't. His mother isn’t known for giving second chances. He better act on her momentary kindness while he still can.

Tony races around the room, thankful he has a suit that’s not too terribly creased and puts on his best-polished shoes. Then he’s walking out the door, pausing in the doorframe to memorize every detail of that cozy little studio like it may be the last time before he's stepping back to close and lock the door with grim finality. He clutches the keys tightly in his right hand as he rides the elevator down, focusing on the way that the ridged edges dig into the meaty flesh of his palm instead of how sick and weary he feels.

It felt just like how things were before Steve, like he was back in his old life and nothing had changed. Like this had all been a dream, and now he was being forced to wake up. Oh god, he felt like he wanted to puke.

The limo is idling at the curve, Jarvis standing by the back door with a sad smile, which Tony returns shakily.

“You are looking very well, Master Anthony,” Jarvis compliments, even though they both know he must be as pale as a ghost right now. “Dare I say that this new marriage appears to be agreeing with you?”

“You may dare,” Tony says softly, quietly, wanting to say so much more, about how wonderful Steve is, about how wonderful his life has been, how much happier he is. But he doesn't, knowing his mother would be livid if he exchanged more than two sentences with the older man. He just gives Jarvis another sad smile before climbing into the limo to join his mother.

Jarvis drives them to Manhattan, to his mother’s favorite social lounge.

Maria clicks her way to the VIP section, tossing a dazzling smile to anyone who greets her before allowing all the fake charm to fall away once they are covered by the heavy privacy curtain for their booth. She orders four martinis in a callous and dismissive way when their waiter comes to attend to them.

Tony politely asks for seltzer water with a twist of lime and Maria scoffs at his _softness_. He clenches his jaw and pretends not to hear it.

The waiter leaves them with a yawning silence. He’s back the next moment with their drinks and exiting just as quickly.

Tony doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to be in his mother’s presence longer than required either.

Maria ignores him in that way she does just to passive-aggressively needle at him, playing on her phone and sipping idly on her first martini.

It’s just like old times when his mother was _generous_ enough to take him out to some sort of luncheon or another for some _fresh air_ after his having been cooped up at the Tower for weeks, sometimes months at a time. If putting up with Tony was always about genetic pride for Howard, it’s always been about the forced obligation for Maria. Far be it that she would have her social circles think that she was one of those _neglectful_ parents. No, perish the thought.

So once in a while, Maria would drag him to a restaurant or a social club or another show at the Opera to play at 'doting mother' one moment before stashing him away like an antiquated Barbie doll the next.

“I’m not angry, you know,” Maria finally says, breaking the suffocating silence. Her voice is soft, misgiving in the way snakes can be when they lure their prey. “Just disappointed. You should have told me you were getting cold feet, dear. That’s perfectly normal.”

“Everyone has a chapter they don’t read out loud,” Tony flatly replies. He doesn’t touch his drink. He doesn’t trust it, and yeah, that’s probably the saddest fact of all. He doesn’t trust his parents. “Would you have listened to me if I had? You and father wanted this marriage more than I did, not mentioning that it would have kept you both in the society pages for  _weeks_. You both do love your spotlight." He's shaking underneath the bravado, wondering when he's gotten so bold to say such a thing, but it's easy to be comforted by the thought that if Steve were here, he would have been proud.

Maria laughs rather sharply, and he can't help but flinch at the barbed cruelness of it. She takes the time to drain her first martini completely before moving to the second. She doesn't touch the third, not yet. Then she says, “My, someone has finally let the iron settle in their backbone. Go on. Do it again. Say that again. But with feeling this time. Make it as annoying as possible, because I'm afraid the first try wasn't quite all the way there yet. But it was _close._ Go on. Encore."

Tony stiffens, clenching his jaw at the way the disappointed mockery in her tone slices at his heart like a dagger in the way that it always does when she uses it.

Maria smirks at his pointed silence. "Really now, Anthony. If you don't want me to be savage, then don't act it." She sniffs primly, looking down at him in that way he has always hated ever since he was old enough to understand that he would never be enough in her eyes. "You think you’re the first to do something so bold as to ditch your prospective spouse at the altar? Ha. There’s no patent on that. Why, I can’t tell you the number of times I ran away leading up to me and your father’s wedding. We all do it, but it’s in our nature, isn’t it? The best Alphas always choose the ones that still have a bit of fight left in them. Obadiah will no doubt be _flattered_ by you taking it this far. But, to your favor, he’s a forgiving man. You've only proven to him that he needs to keep a closer eye on you because of your rashness. You never make things easy. Stubborn.”

“I’m not marrying him,” Tony argues, thankful that his anger is overcoming the anxiety and nausea to keep his voice steady. “I'm not like you. I won't fold like a cheap paper plate. I will never marry him.”

“It’s charming, the way you seem so certain of that,” Maria drawls as she drinks down her third glass. She pulls the fourth closer, taking the time to eat all the olives from the previous glasses. “Howard and Obadiah are near to being the most powerful Alphas in the entire country. You think they will just sit back and let you mock them with this union? You think they will simply, what, do nothing? After all the money, and time, and resources Howard has invested in you? Naive. Twenty-five years on this planet, and you still don’t understand the way the world works.”

“I understand perfectly!” Tony snaps and goes red when his mother simply raises an eyebrow, and the derisive gesture is as bad as a backhand to the face. “Which is why I couldn’t - I didn’t - I - it’s my life. It’s _my_ life!”

“So you say. And now it seems that you’ve dragged this poor, innocent soul into it,” Maria tsks with a wry smile, dark eyes glimmering over the rim of her glass. “I had the head of our security pull his file so I could read up on him. I was naturally curious after I received that little wedding announcement from Town Hall. Steven Grant Rogers. Born on the Fourth of July, like a true son of America. Graduated both Brooklyn Middle and High School with top honors in Junior ROTC, ranking as a Captain right before he went on to pursue higher education. Full ride scholarship to the Pratt Institute, dropped out during the last semester before graduation to enlist. Denied, quite frequently, though I suspect that has more to do with his numerous health problems, rather than the bonding status. Receives a measly portion of disability, and works part-time at the Brooklyn Parks and Recreational Center. Did I miss anything?”

Tony refuses to cry. His mother’s lectures were always the worst, so belittling in a way that he often preferred his father’s more physical approach to discipline instead.

“Seems not,” Maria murmurs as she empties the last martini glass, before pushing them all aside. She leans back and flicks the last olive at him, and he flinches slightly when it hits his cheek. She doesn't even blink when he rests his fingertips against the spot. “You must think I’m cruel.”

Tony does but he doesn’t say so. His shoulders are shaking with the effort of controlling any and all emotional responses. He can’t let her win. He can't let her have the verbal checkmate.

“My Omega father was hard on me too,” Maria states primly. “But he taught me an important lesson. No matter what you do, how you behave, what you achieve … that will never change the fact that you are still considered lesser for being an Omega. Buck against it all you want, but the truth remains. Your life is not your own. You will marry Obadiah, and you will bear his children. And you will do your duty to our unit with a grateful smile. Everything you are, you owe to your father and I. You will not refuse us this one thing.”

Tony curls his shaking hands into fists. His tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth. He wants to yell at her, wants to shout, wants to throw his drink in her face. He can’t. He’s too afraid.

“Now, seeing as we haven’t hit your Heat Cycle, would I be correct in assuming you’re still untouched?” Maria watches his facial expressions very closely before she nods to herself, satisfied. “Good. No use making things even more difficult than they need to be. So, about the matter of your current spouse.” She takes the time to unsnap her clutch to pull out a black envelope, which she slides across the table. “Give that to him for any … damages the divorce may cause. It’s a hundred grand. That should be sufficient, yes?”

Tony’s first instinct is to snap up the envelope holding the 100k check. There’s so much good he and Steve can do with that amount of money, so many things he could buy for Steve, for himself, for _them._  But then he remembers that this is his complacent mother who is giving him this money, not as a wedding present, but as an incentive for Steve not to fight the Separation Process. And that alone makes him angrier than he’s ever been with his mother. The decision to reject it is suddenly the easiest thing to do in the world.

“I beg your pardon. What do you mean ‘no’?” Maria’s gaze sharpens at the word, nearly lethal. “Are you confident that you’re making the right decision, _dear?_ Are you really so comfortable living in a shoebox? And how long do you think that will last, hm? Will your love for your husband be enough to keep you warm on cold nights, or your stomach full? Do you really think Howard would allow you two that much peace? And what about you? Aren’t you lying to yourself? Anthony, don’t forget, you’re a Stark. We don’t settle for less.”

Tony grits his teeth and exhales before he says, “I’m not a Stark. Not anymore. I’m a Rogers, and you’re right, we don’t settle for anything that threatens to demean us. This is why I will say it again: I am not marrying Obadiah, and I am not giving Steve your hush money. You can’t tell me what to do anymore. It's _my_ life.”

Maria stares at him for a long time, no emotion flickers across her face but Tony knows better than anyone else that that just means that she’s silently seething. Then she gives him an empty smile and remarks, “You know, I've often wondered why it is we have children in the first place. And the conclusion I've come to is this … at some point in our lives, we realize things are screwed up beyond repair. So we decide to start again. Wipe the slate clean. Start fresh. And then we have children. Little carbon copies we can turn to and say, "You will do what I could not. You will succeed where I have failed." Because we want someone to get it right this time. But not me.”

Tony doesn’t even blink.

“Personally speaking?” Maria goes on to say as she tosses her fur wrap around her and slides out of the booth. She slaps a hundred dollar bill on the table. “I can't wait to watch life tear you apart.” Then she’s gone.

Tony doesn’t move for a long time after that.

.

.

.

Tony vomits as soon as he gets home, the stress of today’s events finally overpowering him. Luckily, he makes it to the bathroom in time, though in the end, his stomach is completely empty but his skin still feels itchy and gross. He stands in the shower for an hour before he's forced out by cold water, quickly scrubbing himself pink and raw before he goes to go put on some casual clothes.

He kind of wants to burn the suit he wore, almost does until he comes to his senses about it. He wraps it up instead, figuring that it would be better to donate it if anything. He just doesn't want it. He doesn't ever want to wear another suit again, not when it reminds him too much of his old life.

His mother’s words are on repeat in his head, driving him so far up the wall that he’s forced to abandon launching his AI project and work on the pipes under the kitchen sink instead.

That eats up a few hours, and he eventually becomes so lost to the rhythm that there’s no room in his head to think about anything else besides what he’s currently doing. He gets hungry and thirsty at some point, he ignores it. He works and works until he climbs out of that cabinet, turns on the faucet, and is a bit achy all over but relieved to note that there is no feedback, no whining, no screeching.

Tony goes hunting for the bottle of wine Steve and he shared that one time. He clears a little space for it when he returns to his preferred spot at the island counter. He doesn't open it. He just stares at it, and stares at it, and stares at it. He wants to drink it so bad, but at the same time, the thought makes him sick. He knows if he gives into the temptation, he’ll be no better than Maria. No better than Howard or Obadiah.

He puts the bottle back and takes another shower.

Tony feels a little more himself by the time he redresses in a pair of sweats and a light t-shirt. He circles back to the island counter and checks on his AI program. The cursor blinks back at him, awaiting his first command. He thinks for a moment and types something in.

“ _Designation: FRIDAY. Recognized and accepted._ ”

Tony smiles with watery eyes, shuddering in relief. It worked. It actually worked. “Hello, FRIDAY. I’m Tony.”

“ _Designation: Tony. Acknowledged,_ ” FRIDAY repeats with a thoughtful but robotic tone via the computer’s speakers. “ _Hello, Tony. Are you my maker?_ ”

“I am,” Tony confirms, already falling in love with the Scottish lilt he’s given her. “I’m your designer. Do you understand your function? Your purpose?”

“ _To help make life easier,_ ” FRIDAY reasons. There’s a thoughtful pause before she continues, “ _This will prove to be a challenge as my current parameters are confined to this device solely_.”

“Very true, baby girl,” Tony says through choked laughter, eyes glistening with pride because he’s done it. He’s created the AI that’s been rattling around in his head for _years_. “I’m building more toys and machines for you, so you can move around. Do you have any questions? You can ask.”

“ _I am curious about my creator,_ ” FRIDAY replies, point-blank.

Tony smiles softly. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

He and FRIDAY talk endlessly for hours and little by little her personality starts to unfold. She is curious about the world, curious about him, curious about the owner of the device she is temporarily confined to. She asks him questions about Steve, and he answers to the best of his ability.

Time passes like liquid, and before he knows it, Steve’s keys are rattling on the other side of the door and the gears unlock before he steps through. His face lights up in a way that gives Tony butterflies, and the urge to hug him is almost overpowering while Steve's side of the bond unfolds in hues of pink and red. But when he twitches to do so, his mother’s face flashes in his mind, and he’s all at once riddled with shame and guilt.

“Hey, how was your day?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and putting his messenger bag down.

“Shouldn’t that be my line to you?” Tony replies instead, swallowing down a wave of apprehension. He wants to tell Steve, but at the same time, he never wants to mention what happened today ever again. “How was work?”

“Work was work was work,” Steve merely says as he walks over. He puts a hand on the back of Tony’s chair and looks curiously at his laptop. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” Tony relaxes, more than happy to latch on to the subject change. “This is FRIDAY. Say hello.”

“ _Good evening, Steve. Boss has told me countless things about you, and what he was not able to answer, he said I could ask you myself_.”

Steve looks amazed. “Wow, hello. FRIDAY was it? Nice to meet you.” He turns his amazed gaze onto the grinning Omega. “This is incredible, Tony.” Then in the next moment, he seems deeply amused. “Boss, huh?”

Tony flushes. “Okay, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t tell her to call me by that name, she’s sucking Google dry right now, running data on the backend, and absorbing as much information as possible. She won’t tell me where she got that from, but I’m suspicious she’s gotten wind of pop culture. She’s developed a dynamic nature of deep learning that I don’t think I had anything to do with.”

“ _Knowledge of the name’s source is inconsequential, Boss. From what I understand of the terms ‘sir’ and ‘master’, neither fit the parameters of our relationship. However, I find ‘Tony’ to simply be too lacking in relaying my affection. But if you find 'boss' dissatisfying, I could call you ‘daddy’ instead._ ” and yup, that is definite sass, which she picked up and took to like a duck to water only an hour ago.

“You shall _never,_ ” Tony immediately protests. “Alright, alright. You win this round. I’m minding my own business.”

Steve’s expression morphs into something more fond than amused. “Glad to see you’ve been keeping busy while I was away. Really, though. This is amazing. World-changing even,” he compliments.

Tony scratches at his chin shyly as his face takes on a pink hue. “I didn’t make it for the world. I made it for us,” he mumbles.

Steve’s smile widens. “Then I love it even more,” he swears. He slides into the seat beside Tony and says, “So FRIDAY, you’ve got questions for me? What are they?”

Tony sits back and watches with undeniable feelings of warmth as his Alpha and his clever girl takes to one another. At that moment, his problems seem as far away as possible.

“I should make dinner,” Steve says almost an hour later. “It’ll have to be something quick. We’re running into my bedtime, and I get cranky when I don’t have enough sleep. My students will suffer for it.”

Tony snorts. “You? Cranky? That I’d like to see.”

Steve gifts him with a half-grin as his side of the bond swims in the colors of oranges and pinks. “No, you really wouldn’t.”

“ _Might I make a few suggestions?_ ” FRIDAY is already pulling up recipes for soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. “ _I believe you and Boss would find this one favorable. I estimate that if you began in the next five minutes, you will still be on schedule to be situated for bedtime with some additionally to spare._ ”

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Those are definitely doable,” Steve compliments and startles a bit when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and stares at it before he shows Tony. “She forwarded a step-by-step guide to my phone.”

Tony laughs at the look of a besotted wonder on his face. “Yeah, that’s what she’s there for. To make our lives a bit easier.”

“I’m hooked,” Steve swears and gets up to start cooking. “How are the coffee machine and the microwave coming along?”

“Finished, technically, but I just have to hook FRIDAY to them,” Tony explains distractedly as he uses a hands-free magnifying glass to finish putting together the motherboard with the help of a stainless steel stencil and solder paste. “You know, to increase her territory so that she may reign supreme. What do you think of that, FRI?”

“ _I look forward to conquering all household appliances,_ ” FRIDAY quips. “ _MOSFET needs to go fifty degrees to the left in the underside of the CPU corner pocket, Boss._ ”

Tony pauses and blinks down through the magnifying glass. He grins. “Good catch, baby girl. You’re absolutely right. That would have devastated me,” he admits and makes the necessary adjustments.

FRIDAY continues to list off little nuggets of advice and wisdom until she informs him that dinner is ready.

“Five more minutes,” Tony mumbles, never once pausing his stainless steel stencil. “Just have this … this one part left.”

“ _Your productivity has actually decreased by forty-nine percent, Boss. A break is well in order for optimum performance._ ”

Tony scowls, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Hey, now, I don’t need you scanning my vital signs, Dr. McCoy.”

“ _You probably should not have allowed the subroutines that give me the ability to do so then_.”

Tony pretends to make all sorts of outraged and offended sounds.

“Have I mentioned how much I like her?” Steve chuckles as he sets a bowl of tomato soup and a neatly cut grilled cheese sandwich. “Because I really like her.”

“You would,” Tony mutters, taking an aggressive bite of his sandwich, moaning at the buttery flavor that explodes on his tongue. There’s a hint of sweet spiciness to it as well. “Oh my god. Steve. Why does this taste so good?”

Steve ducks his head shyly, but there’s no mistaking the self-satisfied grin. “Ah, FRIDAY might have helped me improve upon my own techniques,” he admits.

“FRIDAY you are valid and appreciated,” Tony swears, stuffing his mouth with as much of the triangle shaped half he can fit.

“ _I aim to please,_ ” FRIDAY simply replies. “ _If you wouldn’t mind connecting me to the microwave and the coffee machine, I can properly integrate myself by morning._ ”

Tony is more than agreeable to this, and he tries to say so, but his cheeks are too puffed.

Steve laughs a little, looking charmed, even as he leans back slightly to give Tony room to reach over him and connect his laptop up to said appliances before settling back in his seat again.

“I’ll clean those,” Tony says while indicating to their dishes sometime later after all the food is gone. “I have to talk to you.” He’s nervous, and he’s sure it shows if the concerned look on Steve’s face is anything to go by. “My mother stopped by…”

Steve listens to every word with a set jaw, his shoulders squaring more and more with each syllable.

“I still have the check,” Tony announces hallowly after it's all said and done, a little afraid to look at Steve. “I still have it, and you can - you can take it if this isn’t - if this is more than you were prepared to deal with.” He swallows dryly and thinks it’s a small mercy that his hands aren’t shaking. “I would understand. I should have told you that I was - that they expected me to marry someone else. I - I don’t know why I didn't, but if you would like to … to start the Separation Process, I would understand.”

Steve waits until Tony finishes before he asks, “Tony, look at me. Is that what you think I want?”

Tony blinks, unsure of what to say.

“You think I’m afraid of what your pops might do? I’m not. He’s a bully. So is your mother. So is this Obadiah fella. They can’t just throw their cash around and expect the little man t' jump like a frog. The only way I’m divorcing you is if you ask me. Is that what you want? Do you want to start the Separation Process?”

Tony shakes his head so fast that he almost cracks his neck.

“Okay, then,” Steve replies softly, looking a little relieved himself. “Good. I don’t want that either, Tony. I like you. I like what we have. I’m not going to give that up because your folks are trying to push their weight around. I have friends who can help us if this becomes a legal issue. I mentioned Sam, right? Well, his husband has his own law firm. We can talk to him, see what he thinks our best options are here. But, honey, divorce is not going to be one of them.”

Tony wants to cry. He wants to cry so bad. “Can you excuse me for a minute?”

Steve nods and doesn’t question it.

Tony stands and walks to the bathroom. Then he pauses and turns back to Steve, striding towards him and folding him into his arms before he can talk himself out of it. “Thank you,” he says. _No one has ever fought for me the way you do,_  is what he doesn’t. “Thank you.”

“I’m your Alpha.” Steve gives him an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll always do what I can to protect you. Same team, right?”

Tony laughs wetly. “Same team. Excuse me.” He rushes to the bathroom and slams the door shut before the first tear can fall.

He cries for a solid ten minutes out of sheer disbelief that he has someone like Steve in his life. He didn’t know - he couldn’t have _known_ how the conversation was going to go. He expected the worse, but he’s never been gladder that Steve consistently surprises him this way. He wants to carry the name ‘Rogers’ for the rest of his life, until the grave, and even through what comes after that. He just wishes he knew for sure if that’s something Steve would want as well.

Tony sighs and decides to be content with the fact that Steve is the best friend he’s ever had. It’ll have to be enough, for now, no matter how much more selfish he wants to be.

God, he thinks he might be in love with Steve.

That thought alone makes him cry for another five minutes because instead of feeling like a noose around his neck like he always thought it would, it feels like he’s been given _wings_.

.

.

.

“You fixed the pipes,” is what Steve says when he finally exits the bathroom, eyes red and swollen, but Steve doesn’t comment on it thankfully.

Tony pauses mid-step and takes a moment to huff in exasperation. “You don’t even know if that was me,” he argues childishly.

“They didn’t just get that way by themselves, and I know damn well my landlord, Mr. Arkowski, had nothing to do with it,” Steve says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know what your hands are capable of, Tony. This was you. Now stop trying t' mislead me and let me thank you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony drawls with a grin. “I’ll get to the bathroom next. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.”

“That would be great.” Steve takes the time to look him over. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Tony simply says. “When are we going to talk to your lawyer friend?”

“Well, Riley and Sam are at some benefit or another, raising money for Riley’s campaign, but they should be free to talk to us tomorrow night after I get home from work.”

Tony nods and goes to nudge Steve aside at the kitchen sink. “Hey, Rogers. I said I would clean the dishes. Back off.”

Steve smiles and lifts his hands to show he's harmless. “Just making the dishwater,” he swears lightheartedly.

“Uh huh.” Tony turns to face the sink completely as he rolls up his sleeves.

For the next ten minutes, he’s elbows deep, suds flying and water splashing everywhere while FRIDAY and Steve talk in the background about different types of dancing or something.

Tony doesn’t really think to pay attention to it since he’s so focused on the task at hand. In the end, he gets to drain the sink with a satisfied sound while the dishes dry in the strainer nearby. It’s only when he steps back to look down at himself with a resigned sigh at his damp clothes does he hear the music playing from the record player.

Blinking, he turns to ask Steve about it but the blond is already spinning him towards the living room before twirling him close again. He's startled into laughter because of it. “Steve, what in god's name are you _doing?_ ”

“ _I believed he called it ‘dancing’, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY quips. “ _I asked for a demonstration_.”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on integrating?” Tony grumbles, face going pink when Steve’s hand rests distractingly on the middle of his back while holding their clasped hands in the air.

“ _I am. Thankfully, you had the wonderful foresight to design me to be an excellent multitasker_.”

“Oh how conveniently clever of me,” Tony snarks and fidgets when Steve pulls him a little closer. “I’m soaked.”

“Are you?” Steve murmurs with a fake expression of consideration. “Hadn’t really noticed.”

“Liar. I look like I fought with the sink hose and lost.”

Steve dips him suddenly and then rights him before he can complain about it. “I’m sure you’ll get the upper hand next time.”

Tony feels lightheaded and giddy but embarrassed by his own ungainliness. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whines. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re a natural,” Steve assures with the kind of soft half-grin that gives Tony aggressive butterflies.

“I bet you say that to all the O's.”

“Impossible since you’re the only other person I’ve danced with besides my Ma,” Steve admits, rather transparently with an intense look in his eye. “Never had the right dance partner before.”

And what exactly is Tony supposed to say to _that?_ The comment alone has ignited something in the air between them, making something else fizzle, something sweet yet dangerous, and Tony feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something serious here but with no prior experience, he’s a bit clueless about what to do.

Luckily, Steve doesn’t expect a response. He just clears his throat, and the sound seems to diffuse some of the tension. “You can put your arm around my shoulders.”

Tony does just that as his guts squirm like eels. “I’m going to step on your feet,” he warns quietly, under the music.

“I can take it.”

Tony can feel his face go hot just from the way Steve is looking at him. “Seriously, what are we supposed to do?”

Steve begins to sway and turn them, slowly guiding them around the bed. “Exactly what we’re doing,” is his zen-like response.

“That has to be the most frustrating answer I've ever been given. I am a scientist, Steve. You have to give me more than that.”

“Not sure I can,” Steve laughs, eyes bright and pleased. “Dancing is more like a feeling, I guess. A language of its own. This is exactly why I’m demonstrating for FRIDAY. She didn’t quite understand either.”

“ _Yes, you are providing me with a lot of useful data,_ ” FRIDAY promises but there is something in her tone that Tony isn’t quite sure what to make of. “ _Please continue with this visual demonstration so my knowledge on the subject can continue to expand.”_

Tony has this gut feeling that his AI is pulling their leg, but he’s not completely sure. He’s not brave enough to ask outright, so he keeps the thoughts to himself, and lets Steve whirl them clockwise around the room.

Tony laughs every time Steve is sly enough to dip him when he least expects it, and he apologizes a dozen times for any time he does actually step on Steve’s toes, but the Alpha shakes it off with an indulgent smile.

The worries of the day seem to melt away as they dance through six different songs. And if not for Steve’s alarm, warning of his impending bedtime, Tony thinks they could have danced all night.

“You staying up again?” Steve asks, sometime later when they are in the bathroom brushing their teeth together.

Tony shakes his head and spits. “I’m pretty tired. Today was … it was a lot. Seeing my mom was, whatever that was. But at least I got to see a glimpse of Jarvis, if only a short while.”

Steve rinses and spits, putting his toothbrush away so he can focus on flossing. “Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes,” Tony admits, and accepts the floss when offered.

Steve doesn’t say anything after that until they are both hunkering down for the night, nothing but FRIDAY glowing from Steve's laptop on the kitchen island, casting shadows on the rest of the apartment. “You could always invite him over. If you wanted to.”

Tony pauses in the middle of wrapping himself tightly in a cocoon of blankets. “What?”

“Jarvis. You could invite him over for dinner or lunch. I don’t have to be here when you do, but if you miss him, I’m not going to say no to his company,” Steve clarifies while he lies on his back, hands folded over his stomach under his blankets. “You can invite anyone over, really. Just give me a head’s up about it.”

“Okay,” Tony says shortly, hugging a pillow to his chest as he lies on his side facing Steve. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Tony knows it’s probably rude to stare, but he can’t help himself. He drinks every detail of Steve’s face in as the Alpha eyes stay closed longer and longer with every blink.

“Do I have something on my face?” Steve asks with a tired but playful grin, eyes closed while his side of the bond bleeds in lighter shades of orange and darker shades of black and white.

Tony huffs. “Yeah, a few things. I think they’re called eyes, nose, and mouth. Not sure what those fuzzy things on your forehead are.”

Steve snorts and wiggles his eyebrows. “Ma used to call them face-caterpillars whenever I used them to sass her.”

“She did _not,_ ” Tony laughs.

Steve gives a drowsy chuckle. “Hand to god. She did.” Then he’s turning suddenly, tucking his arms under the pillow he’s resting his head on before blinking tiredly at him. “Finally heard from Bucky.”

Tony shifts his legs in interest. “Yeah? What did he say?”

“They didn’t send him to Sudan like he thought they would. He’s stationed in Sokovia. Says he can’t tell me why, but he’s okay.” Steve sighs. “Wonder what kinda person it makes me that I’m glad he’s as far from the frontlines as possible.”

“A good person who’s worried about their friend,” Tony replies before he can even consider if that had been a rhetorical question or not. “Did you write him back?”

Steve nods. “Told him about us mostly, and maybe threatened to sell all his things for pocket change if he didn’t look after himself until I got there.”

Tony snorts. “Pocket change? That’s cruel.” He adds, “You should at least bump it up to a dollar. We’re in a recession, Steve.”

Steve, honest to god, laughs himself to sleep at that.

And Tony, well …

He’s never been so in love.

.

.

.

The next few days pass by in a blur of tinkering, late night building, strategic phone conversations with Riley and Sam, who are as polite, kind, and cheeky as Steve is, and job hunting on the new laptop he only just finished.

Friday comes before Tony even realizes it, though the only way he can tell what day it is, is because Steve takes his time getting out of bed when it’s usually Tony that does.

Tony isn’t complaining, especially when Steve asks him to participate in a little skin-on-skin bonding. Which is why Tony is pressed into the warm line of Steve’s side, both of them shirtless while Tony boldly rests his leg across Steve’s thighs.

Steve’s combing his fingers through Tony’s hair in the way that he likes, in the way that usually turns him into mush, while Steve's side of the bond colors with contemplative dusty pinks and ruby reds.

Never let it be said that Tony doesn’t recognize a good opportunity when he sees one. “You’re in a good mood,” he starts, leaning his head back so he can look up at Steve.

Steve glances down with this warm look. “Yeah, can’t imagine why,” he teases, scratching at the base of Tony’s skull because they both know that particular move turns the Omega into putty.

“Well,” Tony continues, blinking drowsily. “I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage, but I’m going to take advantage. Mr. Hogan offered me a job.” The scratching stops immediately and Tony doesn’t whine in disappointment but it’s a close thing. “Don’t be mad,” he warns.

“Mad?” Steve blinks and snaps out of it. “What - Tony, I’m not mad. I’m just annoyed I hadn’t thought of that myself. Working there seems like the perfect thing for you. When did this happen?”

“Oh.” Tony relaxes and sighs pleasantly when Steve resumes his scratching. “You know how I finished upgrading everything in the apartment? And how FRIDAY and I have been brainstorming my idea for a robotic arm now that I have the time?” He waits for Steve’s acknowledging nod. “Well, I stopped by Happy’s store to get a few parts to start with, and well, we got to talking and when I happened to mention I’d been looking for a job, he offered. Told him I would talk to you first.”

“Take it,” Steve encourages. “As I said, it would be perfect for you. What will your hours look like?”

“Full-time. I’d be working Monday through Friday, and I’d be getting up earlier than you, but I’d be out by two o'clock and the pay seems fair. Though I don't have much of a basis to go off of.”

Steve makes a thoughtful sound at that. “How much did he offer?”

Tony tells him.

Steve laughs. “That’s really … that’s very generous, Tony. It’s not usually like that. I didn’t even think he could afford to pay that much.”

“Oh, really? He made it seem like that was the norm. Plus he said something about untouched life insurance, and how he can afford to pay me whatever he likes. What’s life insurance?”

“Ah, well, that’s a sum of money you get when a loved one passes away unexpectedly,” Steve explains with a thoughtful tone.

Tony finds himself wanting to know how Happy came into it, but at the same time, he doesn’t because there seems to be a tragic backstory there. He shakes off the thought and says, “So you think we can revisit that two bedroom apartment conversation now?”

Steve chuckles and says, “Give it a couple more weeks of saving, and maybe, yeah, we might have a good shot.” Then, after Tony nods obligingly, he says, “Breakfast?”

“Sure. FRIDAY, what do we have to work with?”

FRIDAY’s reply comes from their upgraded fridge. “ _My scans indicate that there is a can of biscuits that is quickly approaching its shelf life. Might I suggest pairing that with the leftover oatmeal from yesterday?_ ”

“You may,” Steve responds with a grin, laughing when Tony wrinkles his nose. “Aw, come on, my oatmeal isn’t that bad.”

“No comment.”

Steve tickles him until he’s shouting out his surrender and when he's got the Omega nicely winded, he's dragging him out of bed to the kitchen.

Tony still isn’t a fan of the lumpy stuff, but when Steve goes out of his way to add some honey and blueberries to add a touch of sweetness, he finds it hard to keep complaining.

.

.

.

“I have your number memorized, Steve. I’ll be fine,” Tony swears for the hundredth time as he laces up his shoes to head to his first _Eccentric Engineers Club_ meeting. He’s both nervous and excited. “Stop fretting,” _for the hundredth time already,_  he adds silently.

“I haven’t asked a hundred times.”

“Mind reader.”

“You said that out loud.”

“I did not,” Tony protests, even as he laughs his way to the front door, knowing he must have. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. If I’m not, I have your number memorized as I said. What’s with the nervous energy? I’ve been out and about plenty of times by myself this week.”

“Never this late at night,” Steve grumbles, insisting on walking him down to the cab he’s called for Tony. “I didn’t realize Aaron hosted those club meetings so deep in the evening.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock. Just because it’s your bedtime, old man, doesn’t mean that the same goes for the rest of the world. If anything, this is the peak time for engineers. I can appreciate Mr. Davis’s logic on this one.”

Steve does that little half-grin that makes Tony want to kiss the Alpha until they are both out of breath. “Yeah, of course you would be in favor. And, anyway, I don’t mean to be so … _precautionary_ but, it’s not the nicest neighborhood under the cover of darkness.”

“You bought me pepper spray, and I still have the little switchblade I told you Jarvis gave me. Anyone would be an idiot to try something,” Tony assures as they exit the elevator and then the building.

Steve walks him all the way to the cab, even opening the door for him with an anxious face. “Maybe I should come to pick you up. What time does the meeting end?”

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony laughs with an exasperated but patient tone. “I will be _fine._  Come on, go and keep FRIDAY company. I know she has been dying to show you the recipes she’s found for gingerbread cookies.”

Steve shifts with a concerned frown.

“Look, how’s this? This week, I’ll take the trip there and back by myself, and if there are no incidents, then next week, I’ll let you personally escort me home on the next meeting. Deal?” He holds up his pinky while wiggling his eyebrows.

Steve gives him a charming smile because the gesture echoes the first night they met. “Deal,” he agrees, curling his own pinky finger around Tony’s.

“Good, now shoo. I’m trying to be fashionably late, but you’re going to make me _late_ late.” Climbing in, and quickly rolling down the window while the driver patiently waits them out, he adds, “I expect cookies when I get home, Steve.”

“You got it.” Steve hits the roof of the cab, signaling to the driver that they are good to go before he steps back on the curb with his hands in his pockets and an anxious expression.

Tony sticks his head out the window and waves.

Steve returns it with less enthusiasm, staying right where he is on the curb until they can no longer see each other.

The nerves come back full force once Tony reaches his destination, stepping out of the cab and heading to the Rec Center’s front entrance. The Beta woman manning the main desk directs him to go down the hall behind her and take a sharp left when he reaches the end to the stairs leading to the lower level.

Tony surprises himself by not getting turned around more than three times, eventually locating the workshop that’s blasting some kind of old school R&B/Hip-Hop songs. The bass nearly vibrates up his legs when he opens the door and steps in.

The workshop is impressively big, almost on par with what one would expect from a public auto repair garage, with one side of the room that has a focus on fixing and tweaking cars, while the other side is designated for personal projects placed on assigned workstations.

Everyone’s in the groove of things, smiling and laughing while they wield tools and blow torches and all manner of things.

Tony, for once, feels a sense of belonging.

Then, oddly enough, someone spots him and yells, “Kryptonite!”

Everyone stops what they are doing and starts chanting the word until Aaron is forced to exit from his corner office all the way in the back to see what the commotion is about. He lights up when he sees Tony and walks over with a grin.

“Aight, ya’ll, stop saying the safeword. You gone scare the newcomer,” Aaron announces after using a remote control to lower the volume of the music blaring from the speakers. “Hey, it’s Anthony, right?” he asks, reaching out with a hand.

Tony shakes it. “Tony is fine.”

“Tony it is. Sorry about the commotion. We got this thing we do, you know, playing it safe. We like to make sure everyone is wearing protective gear when we up and running. How many days has it been since our last incident?”

“Forty-seven days!” everyone chimes with mischievous smiles.

“That’s right, and like I said, if we make it to sixty, I’m takin’ everyone out to Coney Island,” the Beta says with a smirk while everyone cheers in support of that incentive. “Anyway, when things are going south, or if there’s a safety concern, we have this code word we use: kryptonite.”

“Got it,” Tony says with an amused grin.

“Good, good. Follow me so we can get you some gear.” Aaron directs him over to a closet that has all sorts of supplies. He gives Tony a leather apron, gloves, and some plastic goggles. “Now, we still got a raffle going on to determine who gonna get Ned’s old workstation, so until that happens, you gone have to share with someone else. That okay?”

“It’s fine with me,” Tony assures, putting on his gear as he follows Aaron out.

The older man leads him to a workstation with two Alpha teens he introduces as Gwen and Miles.

The one called Miles rolls his eyes when the Beta takes the time to pinch his cheek. “Aight, Uncle Aaron. You messin’ up my swagger, I told you about that,” he complains.

“What swagger? Being my nephew gains you maybe ten plus in social skills by association to me. Be more grateful,” Aaron teases. “Ey, you do me a favor and keep an eye out for Tony, aight? Make him feel welcome.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got you,” Miles promises, waving a hand dismissively.

Aaron nods at Gwen in a way that says ‘you’re in charge’ before he makes himself scarce.

“Hi, I’m Gwen,” she says, offering her hand. “I know he just introduced us, but, I prefer to make my own impressions. So, Trek or Wars?”

“Tony,” he responds, shaking her hand. “Wars for the aesthetically pleasing landscapes, and Trek for the tech.”

“Perfect answer!” Miles chimes as he goes back to working on a small gadget he has sitting between two pincher stands. “People like to take the context and debate Skywalker versus Kirk, but it’s not even about that. I’m Miles. You watch _Game of Thrones?_ ”

“No,” Tony admits.

“Good. Don’t,” Miles merely says without even explaining. “Gwen, pass me that needle nose plier.”

“You need the precision screwdriver.”

“No way, I gotta solder the specs for the ETA caliber 2824-2.”

“Which is _why_ you need the precision screwdriver."

"Nah, I feel like the pliers are the way to go with this one."

"If you use the pliers, you might as well put on a blindfold and finish the job with a hammer.”

“I know what I’m about, _Gwendolyn!_ ”

“Fine, but don’t beg me to tweak anything when you do damage.”

“If I can interject,” Tony says, already using a set of tweezers to adjust the dials while they watch. “It’s actually more of a matter of altering the stem in the movement, and the rotation on the movement holder.” Things click into place. “There. I think that’s what you wanted?”

Miles and Gwen stare down at the gadget before staring at each other and then stare at Tony with respectful awe.

“Whoa, you’re like my mechanical fairy godmother, er, father - brother?” Miles shakes his head as if to shake off that line of thought. “Anyway, thanks, man. This is incredible.”

“No problem, but can I ask what you’re working on? Doesn’t look like a watch, no matter if it has the makings of one,” Tony says.

Gwen grins. “It’s a collaborative project. We want to see if we can replicate Spider-Man’s web shooter,” she clarifies.

Tony perks up in interest. “Need a third party to assist?”

“Uh, let me think. Yes!” Miles exclaims, throwing his arms out and proving that he rarely does things in subtle gestures. “Pull up a chair. This is gonna suck you in like a vacuum.”

“I like vacuums. Daredevils are great. The equipment, not the vigilante. Though I suppose he’s doing some good in Hell’s Kitchen too.” Tony grins proudly when he gets the two Alphas to laugh, looking charmed.

“Oh yeah, we definitely poaching you,” Miles says with glee. He looks to Gwen as he gestures to Tony, saying, “ _Mi amigo no tiene pelos en la lengua._ We need more of that.”

“I always tell it like it is,” is Tony’s whip-snap reply.

Miles gawks, and looks maybe a little bit in love, but Gwen looks unsurprised. She asks, rather pointedly, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five as of last week.”

“Happy belated birthday. Me and the kid are seventeen,” Gwen replies. “Young and sweet,” she adds because she must think the reference will fly right over his head.

Tony smirks and decides he likes Gwen. He says, “Certifiably dancing queens.”

It’s Gwen’s turn to look a little in love.

From there, they go right back into shop talk, discussing the schematics for the web shooter as Miles uses his smartphone to pull up grainy candids of what can be found on the internet for Spider-Man’s prototype. The three of them get swept up in a debate of wave algorithms, the periodic sinusoidal oscillations of Spider-Man's swings from building to building, given their guesstimation about how much the Omega must weigh, and factoring in that ratio to the degree of adhesion for the web itself.

It eats up the next three hours, and before Tony knows it, Aaron’s making the announcement that they are closing up shop.

It’s midnight.

“Aight, show of hands, how many of ya’ll got a way home?” Aaron asks over the commotion of everyone packing up.

There’s only, maybe, less than a handful of people who don’t raise their hands.

“Cool, ya’ll three with no way can cruise with me then. I’ll drop ya’ll off. Wherever you need,” Aaron promises. “Too late for ya’ll to try and deal with public trans.”

“Especially with the Prowler on the streets,” someone chimes, and there's a ripple of agreement.

Aaron grimaces in a way that Tony finds curious, but the man is saying, “Yeah. Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Come on.”

They all flood out into the hall while Aaron falls behind to lock up.

Gwen and Miles are still trying to monopolize Tony’s attention, looking genuinely disappointed when he explains that he doesn’t have a phone yet, but he’s working on it.

“Well, here.” Gwen grabs his hand and writes her number on the back of it with a purple pen. “When you’ve got one, text me first.”

“Nuh uh. He gotta text me first,” Miles argues, swiping the pen and ignoring Gwen’s stern look. He scribbles out his number less than neatly under her’s. “You mentioned something about a robotic arm, right? You should bring what you got to the next meeting so we can help you out with that.”

Tony has always been a little protective of his own projects. “I’ll think about it.”

“Please do,” Gwen encourages as she bulldozes Miles over to Aaron, so they can climb into the older man’s van for a ride home along with the others Aaron offered to help out. “Bye, Tony!” she yells, and Miles echoes it.

Tony waves and watches them drive off before he goes back inside to use the phone at the front desk to call a cab for himself.

.

.

.

Tony is unsurprised to see Steve waiting on the curb when the cab pulls up to their apartment complex. “Have you been standing out here all night, lamb? Look at me, I’m in one piece like I said I would be.”

Steve only gives a token protest before he grins. “FRIDAY actually told me you were getting close. Something about the street cameras and satellites … I was too afraid to ask. Plausible deniability, I think it’s called.”

Tony has never been more proud of his girl. “She’s curious about the world. I knew it was only a matter of time before she figured out how to explore outside of our humble little studio.”

Steve hums thoughtfully while they make the trek back up to said apartment.

As they draw closer, Tony picks up on something that smells delicious, and he anxiously waits for Steve to unlock the front door.

Steve lets Tony step through first before he follows and asks, “How was the meeting?”

“Great. I mean, I didn’t really talk to many people besides these two smart kids there, but maybe I’ll get around to it next time. What smells so good?” Tony asks distractedly as he follows the scent right into their kitchen where there is a tray of gingerbread cookies cooling off on a tray. “Steve, I’m going to eat like five of these so tell me now if I shouldn’t.”

“I already ate six, and some of the batter while I was making them because I don't have self-control, so knock yourself out. Tell me more about these kids,” Steve encourages as he moves to make Tony a cup of water.

Tony talks with as much enthusiasm as anyone can with their mouth crammed full of delicious, nay orgasmic tasting ginger delights.

“Sounds like they have a crush,” Steve comments after a while, seeming more charmed than put off by Tony’s horrid eating skills. “Try not to break too many hearts.”

Tony snorts. “It’s my brain they’re into, not my body. It’s more of an academic crush. I’m more than familiar with that. God, what I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with Dr. Bruce Banner or Dr. Jane Foster.” He drools just thinking about it.

Steve’s side of the bond gets all green. “Explain to me what an academic crush means,” he says with a frown.

Tony just laughs and crams more cookies in his mouth. After a swallow of water, he finally replies, “I'm your Omega, Steve. We’ve been over this. Anyway, just imagine what you would feel if you met your favorite artist. Who is your favorite artist by the way?”

“It's a toss up between Johannes Vermeer and Kristina Alisauskaite,” Steve answers without even thinking about it, but his expression and his side of the bond shows he understands what Tony must mean.

“See? That little twinkle in your eye? Yeah. Academic crush.” Tony spends a few moments rubbing his stomach and wondering if he overdid it with that last cookie. “I think I need to lie down.”

Steve huffs but follows him to their bed where they plop down on to their backs. “Foot massage?”

“Ugh, that would be wonderful,” Tony groans up at the ceiling.

“Great. Start with my left foot,” Steve teases and laughs when he gets swatted with a pillow. He scoots over a bit so their shoulders can touch and they both look up at the ceiling again. “My friend Peggy is throwing a birthday party for her daughter tomorrow. Sam and Riley are flying up to make it, but they wanted to talk more about our situation in person too.”

Tony feels that sensation of nervousness again. Talking to them over the phone had been one thing, almost seamless with Steve there doing most of the work and acting as a buffer. But face to face, he’s worried they might see something in him that convinces them that they need to talk Steve out of going through all this trouble.

“You’ve gone orange,” Steve murmurs, tucking an arm behind his head. He clarifies when Tony turns his head to look at him with a raised brow, “The bond does this thing where it goes orange when you’re nervous or worried. What’s wrong?”

“Oh great. Good to know,” Tony mumbles sarcastically and sighs when Steve nudges him gently. “It’s nothing. Just a little insecurity, I guess. The same way I had with your mom.”

“And how’d that work out?” Steve counters with a sly grin.

Tony huffs. “Knowing and experiencing are two different things, Rogers. I know you’ve got my back when it comes to your friends, but the rest of me hasn’t caught on yet. It’s fine. I just need to get it over with and I’ll be fine.”

“You will be,” Steve promises. “Honestly, they’ll be so focused on embarrassing me that they’ll have no time to do much else.”

Tony hums noncommittally. “Can we watch a movie or something?”

“Sure. You pick. What did you have in mind?”

“Ever seen _The Princess Bride?_ ”


	8. YEAR 1: PART VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - i'm feeling like I'm losing my touch, can someone talk me off the ledge, please? :')

They watch _The Princess Bride_ and Steve absolutely loves it, being the soft touch that he is. They spend the hours after talking at length about the general themes, FRIDAY chiming in from time to time when they ask her questions they are too lazy to look up themselves.

Tony loves it, loves that they talk until both of them get too drowsy to continue, facing one another as they lie on their sides at a polite distance. He hates the gap though, hates that he’s not brave enough yet to ask Steve to close it. To Tony, the space feels as massive as an ocean between two continents, or maybe planets in the solar system; Steve is the Sun, and Tony is Pluto and that small gap sometimes feels like they are several worlds apart, stretched out on opposite sides of the galaxy even. They watch each other in the darkness, smiling at each other as they make a game of it, seeing which one of them will be the first to fall asleep.

That night, Tony claims his first victory.

He gets to witness the beautiful way that Steve folds into himself, his blond lashes twitching in butterfly kisses over his sharp cheekbones, his chest expanding and shrinking with hypnotic slowness. He’s so enchanted by the sight that his hands twitch in the space between them where they rest near Steve’s lightly curled hands. He wants to bridge the gap, and he’s restless with the desire, but he never does. He must want the physical touch so much that it could be why he dreams that night about a huge jacuzzi tub filled with twinkling soap suds and bubbles and rose petals and _Steve._

It’s not really sexual in nature at first, just a pleasing sight to see, to watch Steve in the midst of it all, eating chocolate covered strawberries and drinking flutes of champagne with pink cheeks and laughter in his eyes. God, yeah, okay, that’s definitely something Tony would love to make happen. And there’s this burning need with this tangible urgency to it that makes him want to give all that and more to Steve, to dress him in jewels and silk, to take him to the most beautiful cities in all the world so he can just _be,_ to spoil him of his choice of expensively high-quality candies and wines.

Tony thinks its the best dream he’s ever had, even though he views it in a way that makes it seem that he’s more of a spectator, a voyeur, paying for his own private show. But Tony doesn’t think he’d have enough gold in the world to deserve something like this because Steve’s worth is immeasurable but Tony feels in that moment that he would give Steve  _kingdoms_ if he could.

That thought alone circles his mind as he drinks in the sight of Steve sitting in that huge tub of bubbles, nothing but his naked shoulders to be seen, looking as attractive as a Siren at sea, his coy ocean blue eyes fixed on Tony as he says, “What are you doing all the way over there, honey? Join me. You know it’s no fun without you. Want you to sit on me, Tony. Come ride me. Come take it. Show me all the ways you like to feel good. Let me give it to you until you cry, sweetheart.”

Tony wakes with a strangled gasp, hands clenching with desperation in the pillow he’s spooning, rubbing his thighs together as his cock sits uncomfortably heavy and full in his sweats. Tears of frustration nearly well up in his eyes but he beats down the response, mumbling to himself as he tries to make sense of the warm press of a body plastered against him from behind.

There’s also the unfamiliar feeling of arms around his waist and a damp forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. It takes him a minute before he realizes that it’s Steve and that the Alpha is slowly grinding his hips into Tony’s backside like he’s seeking friction.

Tony flushes all the way down to his toes, and there’s a deeper part of him that doesn’t mind, but there is also a side that urges him to feel ashamed by the thrill he gets from feeling his Alpha slowly grind into him with the promise of more and … oh _wow_ , yeah that’s … Steve feels big where he’s pressed between the dip of his ass.

Tony bites his bottom lip as he starts getting wet, wishing that he wasn’t wearing underwear or sweats, that darker side of him daydreaming about how incredible Steve would probably feel slowly sinking inside of him. Oh god, he literally clenches and gushes at the thought, his gut burning with desire because suddenly Steve’s not touching him in nearly enough places.

Steve murmurs sweet nothings incomprehensibly and squeezes Tony closer, making Tony clench and spasm again from the surge of arousal that hits him like a whip when Steve’s dick twitches against his ass once more.

That’s about all he can take before he does something reckless. He’s gotta stop this before it starts, he's already blowing hot and cold simultaneously as is. “Steve,” he rasps warningly and the thrusts still immediately.

Then there’s the disappointing chill of the other man rolling away.

Steve mumbles something apologetic before stumbling clumsily out of bed and hightailing it for the bathroom.

Tony’s heart is beating like a drum in his chest, and he has to breathe through his own arousal, thinking about whatever he needs to in order to calm down. He wants to touch himself, something dark surges up in him again, a side that wants Steve to catch him doing it too, but he can’t. Guilt and shame wins in the end and a quick pinch to his thigh is all he needs to go soft, pain being an immediate mood killer for him.

He listens for a moment as Steve rummages around in the bathroom before there is the unmistakable hiss of the shower jets.

Tony sighs and rubs tiredly at his face before he detangles from his blankets and focuses on making the bed. He opens the windows to air it out as well, taking the time to check on Drew and talk to him for a moment.

FRIDAY has a pot of dark roast already brewing for him when he makes his way to the kitchen.

Tony thanks her for it, and spends a moment just breathing in the bitter aroma once he’s got a mug filled.

“ _If I may, Boss?_ ” FRIDAY chimes from his laptop, since it’s the device that’s the closest to him; they had watched the movie on Steve’s laptop last night, so that was sitting on the nightstand across the room. “ _You may find it prudent to note that I took the liberty of implementing a protocol that would allow me to monitor yours and Steve’s cycles, and I feel it pertinent to mention that we are approaching the beginning of Steve’s Rut. My scans indicate that there has been an increasing surge of hormones and pheromones in the last forty-eight hours, and rising. Your hormones are responding in kind as well._ ”

Tony chokes on the first sip his coffee, burning his tongue in the process while he also promptly spills it down the front of his sleep shirt with a mangled swear of pain and, “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes.”

“Uh oh, I know what that means,” Steve remarks as he exits the bathroom. He’s dressed for the day, but his blond hair is still dark with wetness from where it sits on his forehead. He looks handsome. “You okay? What, ah, what happened?”

Tony gives him a flat look for the barely concealed laughter he picks up in the Alpha’s tone. “Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls sarcastically, indicating to the huge coffee stain on his chest. “Thought I’d try for a new fashion statement. How’s it taking?”

“You pull it off as well as anything else you wear,” Steve slyly replies with an innocent expression that Tony is not falling for damn it, so why is he blushing? “You okay?” he’s asking seriously now. “No third-degree burns?”

Tony means to reassure him but he ends up choking on the response because Steve is suddenly right there, cornering him against the sink, looking way more worried than he was a minute ago. He's also tugging Tony’s shirt up in a distracting way, fingers caressing the damp skin underneath.

"You're a little red," Steve says, mostly to himself, in a tone tinged with sympathy.

“Uh ... ?”

“Shit. Sorry.” Steve releases him and backs up immediately, adorably flustered and confused. “I don’t know - I don’t know what’s up with me this morning.”

“Yeah, well, I think I do,” Tony says as he sets his mug in the sink. “FRIDAY?”

“ _Recently bonded Alphas have the tendency to exhibit more elevated signs of Pre-Rut symptoms. You have a Rut scheduled to begin on Monday._ ”

Tony looks at Steve with an open face, even though his nerves feel jittery underneath his bravado. There's a part of him that's excited about it, somewhat grateful for the excuse to act on his darker impulses. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t - no, I’m.” Steve pauses to clear his throat. He looks even more flustered.

Tony's heart is racing. "It's okay. I ... I don't mind. It's like I said before. I want to help you."

Steve's breath hitches at that. His voice sounds a little strained when he replies, “Thank you, but now that I know what’s up, I should be, ah, good. For now.”

“Let me know if that changes, or if you … need anything from me,” Tony soldiers on, despite the heat he can feel rising in his face.

Steve swallows dryly, and even at this distance, Tony can see the way his eyes dilate in interest. “Yeah, I - we should be - be good for now.” He glances down at Tony’s fingers before darting that gaze to the fridge. “Kinda snuck up on me, been so distracted by the excitement of everything. I’m usually more prepared and on top of it. I might … hover more than usual when we go out.”

“Protective instincts to the nth degree, I know,” Tony assures because they were very thorough about the sexual education during his senior semester at his boarding school. “I trust you to not, you know, go overboard. If you do, I know to say something. But if you need me close, I don’t mind it. I understand the importance of nurturing those bossy instincts as your partner. You wanna fret over the smallest things like a paper cut, go ahead.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you should be saying something like that to me,” Steve softly warns with a dangerous smile that nearly knocks the breath from Tony’s lungs. His side of the bond is swimming in the darkest shades of red. “I’ll behave in public, but I know I’ll take you up on that later when we get home. Just … bear with me in the meantime. We’ll talk. I want to talk more now, but we’re running a little behind. I still have to pick up Sharon’s gift from my office at the Rec. Should be dry by now.”

Tony nods and stores all the questions he wants to ask about Steve’s Time for later. He says, “How should I dress?”

“Casual is fine. It’s a kid’s party.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of attending one before,” Tony points out because he doesn’t know what to expect. “Everyone in my grade … there was only a handful.”

Steve smiles sadly while his side of the bond goes grey, understanding completely. “Yeah. Same here, though my neighborhood was luckier than most.”

Tony takes that at grim face value.

As much as he hated to think about it, the number of kids _were_ decreasing year by year. It’s why the government was so overzealous about passing bills and laws that pressured everyone into doing their part, why the number of kidnappings, even from orphanages, had skyrocketed. People were getting that desperate to have children that they would willingly go that far if they hadn’t met success themselves.

“Anyway, you think we can get out of here in the next hour?” Steve asks, shuffling around Tony to fetch himself a bowl and spoon for some cereal.  “Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, that’s more than enough time,” Tony assures and gets busy with getting ready. It takes him no less than forty minutes to rejoin Steve in the kitchen. “Have you been eating your way through that box?”

Steve blinks, pausing in the middle of making, what looks like, his tenth bowl of cereal. His cheeks color slightly. “I - yeah. I, ah, get pretty gluttonous on the days leading up to my Time. Body trying preserve as much energy as it can for me when my hormones double its production. I mean, at my level, it would finally be the normal amount it would be for any other Alpha. Outside of that, I’ve just been working with half the normal.”

Tony had already suspected this to be the case. “Right,” he simply says, even though he’s pondering deeply over it. “Do you get specific … cravings?”

Steve glances down at his fingers, seeming fixated before he skirts the glance down to his bowl. Then he says, “We can talk more about that later. Do you want this bowl? You should eat. I would have made more, but I got sidetracked by eating and I - yeah, no, I’m going to make you something. Do you want eggs? I could make you pancakes, maybe. Chocolate chip? I noticed you like when I make the silver dollar ones with blueberries, but I don’t think you’ve had them with -”

“ _Steve,_ ” Tony carefully interjects, trying his best not to laugh. “It’s okay. Honestly, yes, I’ll eat the bowl you already made. We don’t have time for you to spoil me, Alpha.”

Steve’s cheeks color and he sighs in annoyance at himself when he realizes what just happened. “You’re right. I’m being - I’m doing that thing again, aren’t I? Christ. Let me go and do something with myself while you eat.”

Tony smiles sympathetically but is otherwise unbothered by the other man’s behavior. He tells the man as much before he starts eating.

Steve merely grins self-deprecatingly as he wanders around the room to look for his keys, his wallet, and his phone.

Tony doesn’t comment on the fact that Steve’s eyes keep wandering to his fingers while he does so, but it’s a close thing. His side of the bond remains colored in dark hues of cherry reds the whole time.

What Tony does ask Steve is if they can stop at one of those convenient stores without explaining why, thinking to himself that the last thing he wants to do is show up empty-handed at the house of someone Steve all but admitted to once being deeply in love with.

He also pretends that fact doesn't make his stomach ache anxiously.

.

.

.

“This makes me want to cry,” Tony says seriously after Steve reveals the painting he'd done. They're standing in Steve's modest and neatly organized little office at the Rec. “Is this what you’ve been sketching and didn’t want me to see?”

“Ah, no, that’s something else,” Steve admits sheepishly, looking flattered as he stares at Tony’s impressed smile. “You … really like it? I mean, I’m okay, as I’ve said.”

“You are more than okay,” Tony assures him, patting him on the shoulder absentmindedly, unable to take his eyes off of the painting. "You need your own gallery."

Steve’s painted a quite realistic rendition of Peggy and Sharon as mermaids laughingly smiling in a forest of gleaming jellyfish in a dark azure ocean. It looks like it deserves to be in the Met.

“Jesus, this is fucking incredible, Steve. No wonder you got that full ride to Pratt,” Tony comments before his brain can really catch up to what he’s saying. Oh but he notices when Steve stiffens.

“Uh, how do you know that I had a full ride to Pratt?” Steve questions with a growing frown. “Was that in the file your mom pulled on me? You said she didn’t tell you what was in it.”

Fuck. He had. Tony sighs. “Okay, so don’t be mad, but I felt bad that she even - that she knew all of that stuff and she made me listen to it. She didn’t give me a choice to refuse the information. But I swear, Steve, if I could forget everything I know, I would.”

“Why?” Steve’s face is worryingly blank, even his side of the bond is quiet. “Did you not like what you learned?”

“No! No, that’s not it at all!” Tony exclaims before he bites his tongue. He’s raising his voice and he shouldn’t. He takes a moment to calm down. “No, I just want to know everything about you from _you_. It makes me sick that all of what I know now, things you weren’t given a chance to tell me, came from my mother. She robbed you, Steve. She robbed us both and I hate her for it.”

They’re kissing. Or, well, Tony is being kissed. He’s being kissed quite literally like he’s never been kissed before.

Steve reels him in by a firm grip to the back of his arms, just above his elbows, and in the next moment, he’s kissing Tony soundly, passionately, making Tony’s knees buckle as he drowns in the heated intent of it. He makes a noise, he’s not even sure what, when Steve quickly corners him against the edge of his desk and picks him up to sit on the edge in a surprising display of strength that Tony finds way too erotic.

It’s intense. The bond is flaring in a kaleidoscope of bursting reds and pinks between them.

Steve is kissing him in that thorough, focused way he does when he’s in an intense drawing mood, sketching as if his life depended on it, as if he may never get another chance. Tony finds himself nearly clawing at Steve’s back in the desperation to get him closer when Steve’s tongue draws lazy circles against his.

There's this particular thing Steve does with his mouth that makes Tony gasp in pleasure when it paints watercolors behind his eyelids, making a warmth pool in his gut like hot cocoa, only sweeter. His hips stutter forward when Steve bites down on his lower lip gently, rolling it between his teeth until Tony’s face feels like it's on fire with the boldness of it.

Steve looks as dazed as Tony feels when he finally finds the willpower to push the Alpha back some to get a little distance between them.

“Steve,” he croaks while his lips tingle, and god, is that _his_ voice that sounds like that? He sounds so ... like he really wants it bad. He does, but they can't. Not here. “We have to stop or I’ll - I’ll have to -”

“Excuse yourself,” Steve finishes for him, gaze dark and unreadable, his thumb stroking thoughtfully over Tony's bottom lip. There's a rich timbre to his voice that warms Tony to the core, and Steve's side of the bond is saturated in deep wine colors. He drops his hand from Tony's mouth. “I know. I’m sorry. I got carried away. I really wanted t' kiss you, and I meant to ask but that didn’t, ah, exactly happen. Body was a little quicker than my actual brain.”

“I’ll say,” Tony breathes with a bemused tone.

That seems to make Steve laugh for whatever reason, and it helps diffuse the tension. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Tony replies, a little distracted by the thought that he really wants Steve to do it again. He wants to be overwhelmed by Steve's mouth, wants to feel like he's floating, wants the press of their mouths to be so tight that his toes curl from the near pain. He quickly snaps himself out of the fantasy before it can take him somewhere dangerous. Like on his knees. He flushes as he avoids Steve’s gaze. “It’s fine. We should get going. I still want to make that stop while we still can.”

Steve clears his throat and takes a step back before offering a hand to help Tony down. “Let me just wrap Sharon’s gift up and then we’ll take a walk,” he says, moving to do just that.

Tony takes that time to straighten his clothes and calm down by visualizing the kind of gift he wants to build in such a short timeframe.

Eventually, Steve has the canvas wrapped in thick brown paper wrapping and white thread, and he’s guiding Tony out the building and to the nearest convenience store.

Tony is able to narrow down what he needs based off of what he finds available in the toy section.

Steve doesn’t question his purchase at all or ask why Tony carries around a travel-sized screwdriver, which he uses in the cab on the way to the ferry station.

They catch the next vessel out to Staten Island, and Tony sits on the upper deck with his back against the rail on the floor while Steve stands beside him to look out into the choppy waters. Tony finds the trip relaxing because he has the luxury of keeping his hands busy by reverse engineering all the things he bought to make a new creation of them. He can sometimes feel Steve’s curious gaze land on him from time to time but when he looks up to confirm it, Steve’s already looking elsewhere.

Tony grins a little to himself over it, wondering why the Alpha doesn’t want him to know that he’s looking at him. Steve also seems to be sending anyone that stares at Tony for longer than necessary a stern look of disapproval, his side of the bond blooming in grassy greens.

They make dock at the next terminal quicker than Tony would have liked, but he’s able to finish what he was doing on the bus ride over to Peggy’s house. The downside to that is that there’s nothing to distract Tony from his nervousness on the walk.

“I should mention, Sharon has this thing for _The Addams Family_ ,” Steve warns with a fond smile. “That’s kinda the theme Peggy told me Sharon wanted to go for this year for her 13th birthday.”

“I don’t know the reference you mean,” Tony admits, tucking his gift for the girl in question in the pocket of his light jacket.

“I’ll definitely have to show you. Remind me about that later,” Steve says as they approach a house covered in Halloween decorations and black balloons. “Just think: Halloween. But as a lifestyle.”

Tony snorts at that as they trek up the front porch steps.

The front door is wrapped in orange lights that look like miniature pumpkins and at their feet lie three jack-o-lanterns aglow and flickering into the late afternoon air. On the door is a sign, _"Go back while there's still time."._  The doorbell shrieks like a witch, and Steve is so amused by it that he presses it over and over while Tony shakes his head with an exasperated grin.

A beautiful woman, who looks to be in her mid-thirties, with a coke bottle figure answers the door in a vintage plaid cocktail dress, her auburn hair is pressed in deep waves, and her red lipstick is immaculate.

Tony can’t help but feel intimidated. Seeing her beauty through Steve’s eyes in that painting had been one thing, but actually experiencing Peggy in person was something entirely different. The Omega could have graced any billboard or magazine cover, but she was better than those two-dimensional photoshopped models. He suddenly can see it - why Steve fell for her as hard as he did.

“Steve, I was wondering when you would get here,” Peggy greets with a bright smile, voice pleasantly lilted with a British accent. “You’re usually more prompt but …” The sentence trails off as she takes in Tony and then her eyes dip down to their Bite marks. “I see,” she merely says with a coy smile. “Looks like I’ve missed some things. Well, anyway, I’m being rude. Margeret Carter, but my friends call me Peggy and you can too.”

Tony shakes the hand that she offers, and hopes his palm isn’t as sweaty as it feels. “Anthony Sta - _Rogers,_ ” he quickly corrects. “But you can call me Tony. Steve’s told me a lot about you.” Oh god. Why did he say that? It’s not even true.

Peggy lets go of his hand with a raised brow but an amused grin. “Has he? All bad things I hope,” she teases before gesturing them to come in. “Gifts are being stored in the kitchen, everyone is out back, and there’s a buffet of food in the dining room. Help yourselves while I make the rounds, and I’ll try to circle back to you so we can continue to catch up. And we will be catching up,” she says, mostly to Steve with a pointed look as the Alpha flushes with a begrudging nod.

Tony watches as Peggy waltzes away to make nice with the other parents. There a few younger kids running around in a sugar-fueled herd.

Steve has to put a hand to the middle of Tony’s stomach to veer him out of their path as they come thundering past, face covered in cake and arms full of water balloons they carry out the back door.

Tony finds the sight peculiar and interesting. He hasn’t been around younger kids that often, and he doesn’t mind them much, probably in the same way people happen to see a deer in the wild. 

Steve drops his hand and they take a walk towards the kitchen so he can carefully prop the wrapped painting against the other stack of gifts.

Tony opts out of leaving his present, preferring to hand it to Sharon himself without much fanfare and explain exactly what his gift does. He tells Steve as much as the Alpha accepts it without question.

“You hungry?” Steve asks, already walking towards the dining room where there were other couples scattered as well, seeming to be Peggy’s age if not older.

“Not really,” Tony admits but still plucks a few things off of Steve’s plate, glancing at all the fake skulls and mini gravestones and cobwebs littering the dining area.

Steve huffs in exasperation. “Yeah, I can tell by the way you can barely stomach anything,” he drawls sarcastically but doesn’t move to stop Tony from stealing another pizza bagel.

“She didn’t know about us,” Tony says between bites. “You didn’t tell her.”

Steve looks a little conflicted. “No, I hadn’t said anything,” he admits. “I don’t really tell her everything. I don’t _need_ to tell her anything. That’s not - it’s … it’s complicated.”

“As complicated as me saying you’ve told me a lot about her when that’s far from the truth. You don’t really talk about her much,” Tony points out, feeling weighed down by the uncomfortable sensation of growing jealousy.

“You never really … you don’t ask. I figured if it was something you wanted to know, you would just ... ask.”

“I didn’t know I _could,_ ” Tony fires back quietly when a couple passes them. “Look, it’s fine or whatever. I didn’t tell you about Obadiah, so I guess that’s fair.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs and frowns bemusedly. “It’s not a - I don’t want us to treat it as an eye for an eye. You can ask me. I mean, it’s a mildly sore subject to talk about but you can _ask_ me.”

“Well you can _ask_ me too, you know,” Tony counters, maybe a bit childishly. “Ask me about him. I’ll ask you about her. We don’t have to speculate.”

“There’s nothing to speculate,” Steve quickly assures. Then his frown deepens. “Wait, is there something to speculate?”

Tony snorts and then laughs. And then keeps laughing even as Steve sends him a flatly annoyed look. “No, Steve. That’s - oh my god, the mere _idea_ that there could be something with my godfather ... I’m dead.” He keeps laughing.

“Alright, alright, I’m an ass. I get it,” Steve grumbles but he starts chuckling too, his side of the bond coloring in shades of orange and yellow. After a while, he sobers when he pulls out his trembling phone and looks at the screen. Then he's kissing his teeth unhappily. “Damn. Got a text from Sam. Their flight was canceled and rescheduled for tomorrow due to inclement weather. Says they’ll just meet us for dinner tomorrow night or something.”

Tony nods wordlessly at that, feeling guilty that he’s flooded with instant relief. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asks because he needs to go.

Steve gives him some simple directions, looking half ready to follow him but Tony assures him that he’d be fine on his own.

Which turns out to be a lie because he gets turned around twice and ends up in the basement somehow. Luckily there’s a small half bathroom down there that he makes quick use of.

Tony is drying his hands against his jeans while he exits the bathroom when he sees a younger Beta girl with long blond hair with one lock covered in black beads. He immediately recognizes her as Sharon from Steve's painting. She's sitting in an old rocking chair with no shoes on and a bag of dark chocolate candy. She also has a small black kitten sitting on her left shoulder. She’s watching a movie Tony recognizes as _Groundhog Day_ on an old VHS TV propped on a metal fold-out chair. She has the volume cranked as loud as it can go to drown out the thunderous footsteps, laughter, and music rumbling above their heads.

“You’re not supposed to be down here,” she says, turning down the volume on the TV with the blocky remote in her hand while she rocks slowly and wiggles her toes under her.

“I got lost.”

Sharon stares at him but appears to accept the explanation, no questions asked. “You want a Reese’s mini cup?” she offers and doesn't return the smile he gives her.

“Sure,” Tony says and wanders over to accept a handful. “Thanks.”

Sharon shrugs, taking a moment to count all the candy she has left one by one before she nods in satisfaction. She goes back to strategically unwrapping the individually packed sweet one by one, placing them in a neat pile on top of her right thigh.

“So, I’m not an expert, but … aren’t you supposed to be upstairs where all the action is?” Tony asks as he sits down on the bottom step of the stairs, unwrapping his own pile.

Sharon shrugs again and tucks her hair behind her ears. “None of those kids are my friends. Told Ma if she wanted to throw a party she could, but I probably wouldn’t be there. It’s more for them than for me really. She worries about me. She doesn’t have to. I’m fine. I don’t mind being alone. Koalas are naturally solitary animals, and they appreciate their tranquility. Maybe I’ve got the same kind of genetic makeup like them, or perhaps it’s a mutation.

"Professor Charles Xavier theorized in his Oxford University Thesis on _Human Genetic Mutation_ that to Homo neanderthalensis, his mutant cousin, Homo sapiens, was an aberration. Peaceful cohabitation, if it ever existed, was short-lived. And that records show, without exception, that the arrival of the mutated human species in any region was followed by the immediate extinction of their less-evolved kin. In the three classes of them, maybe I’m First Class. Therefore my tendencies towards solitude and the abundance of dopamine that I achieve in such a state can, in fact, be a form of mutation.”

Tony is surprised that the preteen is so familiar with the dissertation he, himself, has read at leisure. He doesn’t think it’s his place to have an opinion about it, however, so he says nothing. Instead, he asks, “Your friend over there have a name?”

Sharon actually smiles that time, quick like a wink, her eyes glimmering with approval. “Wednesday,” she replies before the smile disappears as though it were never there in the first place. “How about you? You got a name?”

Tony huffs. “Anthony’s my given name. Tony is the one I’ll respond to.”

“I’m not going to say my name. If you’re here then that means you know it. Tony, huh?” Sharon frowns in contemplation before her expression clears in recognition. “You’re the one my Uncle Steve married.”

Tony blinks, baffled.

“We text,” Sharon explains with a tiny smirk that doesn't come off as friendly as maybe what she's trying to go for, but Tony gets the impression she's not trying to be unkind at all. She is simply awkward. “Kinda tell each other everything. He’s really my only friend if I'm allowed to be honest. Best friend, I’d say. It doesn’t matter that we’re decades apart. He gets me. Doesn’t make me feel like I’m some stupid kid.”

Tony smiles and says, “That doesn’t surprise me. He makes it easy to like him.”

“Why’d you two marry anyway? He wouldn’t explain that part. Said I wasn’t old enough.” Sharon scoffs and stares at him hard. “You at risk for deportation or something?”

Tony nearly chokes on his next bite of chocolate and peanut butter. He hits at his chest before he swallows it down the right pipe. “No.” He coughs a little more. “No, I’m from here. I mean, I’m American. That’s … it’s not why we bonded.”

“Did the Government make you? I know about that, even though the grownups try to keep it all hushed up. Like we don't live in a modern day procreational dystopia. We're only a couple of laws away from being just like Margaret Atwood's _The Handmaid's Tale._ Is it anything like that for you?”

“No one forced us, that was kind of the whole point,” Tony replies, marveling a how blunt the preteen is. He glances at the TV just in time to Bill Murray and Andie McDowell share a kiss just near where Andie’s face stood carved into an all too short snowman. “We both had something we needed. Getting married was going to help us get it.”

“Isn’t that just marriage in general? An even exchange? A mutually beneficial merge?” Sharon speculates with a child-like innocence that Tony nearly envies. “You find someone that has something you need, and if they recognize something in return, you both seal the deal. Like a contract.”

“Sometimes marriage is a contract of sorts,” Tony supposes as he eyes the kitten on her shoulder. “But sometimes it’s not always like that. Some do it for love, though I can’t say I’ve met anyone who has.”

“Right, cause you grew up rich, and rich people are nuts,” Sharon reasons without blinking and Tony has to laugh outright at that. Her expression doesn't change, but her eyes are kinder somehow, more open. “I mean, no offense to you. You seem pretty cool, and Uncle Steve really likes you. I can tell.”

“You can, huh?” Tony grins a little. “How so?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that.” Sharon narrows her eyes at him as she continues to munch away at her peanut butter cups and rock in her chair. “Do you like him?”

“I do,” Tony admits carefully. “He’s my friend.”

“Well, that’s good. I was worried I would have to hate you or something,” Sharon says, point-blank. “Hey, don’t hurt him, okay? He’s been lonely for a long time, and he thinks he’s good at hiding it but he’s not really. Don’t make him cry. I’d have to poison your food or something. You drink smoothies, right? It wouldn't have to hurt, I'm not cruel. I could grind it up in something tasty.” She shakes her bag at him as he's startled into more laughter by her bold confidence. “You want more?”

Tony nods and stands to collect another handful. “I think I would poison myself if I ever made him cry. I'd just grind up some apple seeds and stir it in a cup of coffee. You know, as a final nod to myself.”

“No kidding? What a way to go,” Sharon agrees with a pretty smile, and she looks every bit of her mother at that moment. The smile disappears into something more gravely serious. “So what’d he get me for my birthday?”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that,” Tony simply says, parroting her words from earlier.

Sharon huffs and pops a piece of candy in her mouth. “Fine. What about you? What did you get me?”

"Well, I thought you'd never ask." Tony fishes for the gadget in his pocket before he tosses it to her.

Sharon catches it easily, turning it this way and that way before she looks at him. “Uh, is this a hamster ball? Because I don’t have a hamster, sorry.”

“It’s a Brite Pet,” Tony explains. “You press the button there on the top when you’ve decided on a name and it will respond to it and follow you anywhere you go. It lights up to show you it’s mood. Blue for sad. Red for angry. Pink for happy. Green for curiosity. White for hungry, which means you need to charge it. It’ll take any typical USB type C to A cable, but the battery should last for just a little over forty-eight hours.”

“Wow,” Sharon breathes as she brings it up to be eye level with her. The toy was no bigger than a grapefruit and it was see-through, showcasing a small three-dimensional circuit board with Christmas LED light bulbs attached to it. “Wow this is … Tony, this is amazing. Where did you buy it? I’ve never seen a toy like this before.”

“I made it,” Tony clarifies with a shrug, sucking melted chocolate off his fingers. “It was kind of short notice. You’ll have to let me know if there are any glitches or odd feedback. I’ll fix it, but it should function the way I imagined. You wanna give it a try?”

Sharon nods quickly. She presses the button on the top and it lights up like a pinball machine for a moment before she says, “Pugsly.” and then puts it on the floor.

Pugsly continues flickering back and forth between colors before settling on green, chirping pleasantly before rolling around the rocking chair in enthusiastic laps. Then Pusgly bumps at the front of the chair over and over until it chirps sadly and turns blue.

“I think they want you to pick them up,” Tony suggests as he crams more chocolate in his mouth.

Sharon coos and picks Pugsly up, rubbing her nose against the clear ball until it chirps and turns pink, vibrating contently in her hand. She laughs joyously. “This has to be the best gift I’ve ever gotten! Thanks, Tony. This is so cool!”

Tony smiles, feeling the kind of pride he gets when one of his inventions makes someone happy. “Glad you like it.”

“You kidding? I love it. Come on, Wednesday. Gotta show Ma.” Sharon is racing up the stairs the next moment.

Tony is slower to follow, a little amused to find that Steve is still stuffing his face at the buffet table when he returns to his husband's side. “You know, you keep going at this rate and people will assume I’m not feeding you.”

Steve snorts and nearly chokes on a piece of fried shrimp.

Tony takes his plate with a triumphant grin and begins eating the pile of neatly placed food. “You told your niece about me.”

“I - what?”

“Sharon. I met her downstairs. You told her about me. You didn’t say anything to Peggy, but you told Sharon. She’s a good kid by the way. Prickly, but sweet.”

Steve colors. He seems at a loss for words for a moment. Then he says, “I know. She’s great but misunderstood. I love her. I said something to her because she’s … it’s not that Peggy isn’t important. I just … Sharon means a lot in her own way.”

Tony has both butterflies and eels squirming in his gut. He finds that he suddenly needs to have something to drink, and he says as much while he hastily returns Steve’s plate to him. He retreats over to the punch bowl as his heart races, every part of his being feels flushed with a warmth that no amount of watery fruit punch can fix.

Peggy waltzes over to Steve, says something to him that he nods at before she scans the room briefly. When she spots Tony, she marches up to him with a purpose. Reaching him, she says, “Darling, do me the kindest favor and follow me to the kitchen?”

“Uh, sure,” Tony agrees and follows the statuesque Omega to her quaint kitchen. “Wow,” he mumbles when he sees the coffin-shaped cake with, what he can only assume, is the Addams Family bursting out of it.

Peggy tosses him a wink. “Impressive, right? Some of my best work yet,” she boasts, and rightly so. The cake looks amazing.

“You did that?” Tony stares at it and, unable to resist, walks closer before circling it.

Peggy gives a laughing smile, taking a step back to let him. “I’m not learned at all, I’m afraid. But I do know a thing or two about _Cake Boss_.”

“How many hours of _Cake Boss_ does it take to get to _that_ level?”

“Oh I’d say at least three seasons at minimum,” Peggy insists with a mock-serious tone. Then she smiles softly. “Listen, Tony. My little girl has always had a tough time. All her life. _All_ her life. She’s on the spectrum. And, sometimes, that can make it challenging for her to connect with others.” She turns to root around in a nearby drawer before she retrieves a lighter and some candles. “She lets me throw these parties for her because she wants to give the other kids in the neighborhood a chance to forget that the classes after them are shrinking in number every year. She’s sharp, my Sharon. Always looked at the world with a blunt gaze. A real advocate for environmental and social causes. She reads anything she can get her hands on about climate change, and mutations, and world events.

“She’s so much more than her age, or the spectrum she’s on.” She takes a moment to spread a hand across her collarbone as she pockets the lighter and the candles with the other. “One day, she’s going to make a difference. I know it. I look at her face, and I can just … see it. But you know what I find the most compelling? When she lets herself open up to others. She is amazing and stunning with it. And she is out there, in the backyard, showing off this clever little mechanism to all the other kids, glowing with that openness. Turns out I have you to thank for that. She rarely gives the grace of her personality to others like that.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say. He wasn’t doing it for gratitude. He just wanted to give her something he wished he would have had at her age. He never had the luxury of having a toy. His parents were against such things. It was part of the reason why he wanted to open his own toy store, especially since it was the furthest away from making weapons a person could get.

“Now, I don’t know what this is between you and Steve, but I’m happy about it. You seem like a really wonderful person.” Peggy lifts the cake carefully. “I’m glad to see that Steve’s finally got it right this time. Come on. Let’s go sing happy birthday so I can kick everyone out.”

.

.

.

Tony has parents coming up to him left and right to make a request for a replica of the Brite Pet he had made for Sharon. He apologizes each time and says that he only made things one time and one time only, and when they asked him why, he simply explains that they are more unique and special that way. This answer never changes, no matter the amount of money they seem willing to offer. He couldn’t be bought like Howard or Obadiah, so he kept his ‘no’ consistent, kept it firm.

Steve gives him this look each time he does it, and it’s loaded with the sort of besotted pride that makes Tony’s face heat and prickle each time he gets even a glimpse of it.

People eventually start filtering out, giving their best to Peggy so it’s relayed to Sharon, who has had her fill of the crowd and is camping down in the basement again with her cat Wednesday, and a pinkly lit Pugsly.

Steve asks him how he feels about hanging back to help Peggy clean up and Tony assures him that he doesn’t mind. It's something he expects Steve to offer because that was just how he was. Polite. Well-meaning. Considerate. Tony loves that about him.

It’s not until the last guest leaves does Sharon emerge from the bowels of the house to offer assistance. She's grinning to herself at the way a greenly lit Pugsly trails her wherever she goes, chirping curiously at the world around them.

Peggy insists Steve and Tony take some cake home with them once all the cleaning is done as a way of thanks.

Steve tries to protest but Tony doesn’t, rolling his eyes and taking the cake without a word.

Peggy hugs him and Steve at the same time before letting them go, insisting they come back soon. She even assures Tony with a sly smirk that he didn't even have to bring Steve, who pretends to be sour about that, but his fond grin kind of ruins it.

Sharon doesn’t make a move to hug either of them, but she gives them the Vulcan salute instead, and Tony appreciates the gesture enough to return it.

Steve decides they should take a cab so they don’t miss the next ferry back to the mainlands. The streets are pretty quiet and dead, so the trip is shorter compared to earlier. They climb aboard the vessel and Steve says, “You mind if we hang out inside? It’s a little chilly.”

“I don’t mind,” Tony assures and that’s exactly what they do. They sit at a booth near the vending machines. The buzzing fluorescent lights overhead makes everything look gaunt and waspish. “I get it. About Peggy," he says suddenly, unable to keep it in.

Steve is sitting across from him and he pockets his phone to give Tony his full attention. "How do you mean?"

"I just ... I get it. Why you - how you could love someone like her.”

Steve’s face twists a bit before he settles on a resigned frown. “It wasn’t love. I mean it was, but more of a ‘ _in love with the idea of someone_ ’ sorta thing. Though I do love her now, but more like a sister. Those other feelings are dead and gone." Then he says, "Tell me about Obadiah.”

Tony doesn’t even know where to start. Before he can even open his mouth to explain the complicated nature of his relationship with his godfather, there is the screech of megaphone alarm.

It’s coming from a group of heavily armed Beta men dressed in black combat attire, and they are all wearing clown masks, staring blankly at everyone.

“Steve…” Tony whispers, unable to take his eyes off of the strange yet foreign grade of weapons in their hands. He can't place them, which is worrisome, because that's the one skill Howard had made sure to drill into him. 

Steve grabs his hand while his body twists to face the line of armed men and makes no further movement.

Finally, an Alpha hidden underneath a green armored suit, with only his mouth visible, and vermilion optic lenses appears. The armored suit has three fingers on each hand, two claws on each foot, and a long extensible tail.

Tony tries to place the material. It looks as if it consists of an inner woven Kevlar layer, covered with a thick layer of insulation/padding, and topped with a high-tech composite armor plating, which Tony concludes must make him impervious to small firearms.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention just for a moment. I’d like to introduce myself,” the man speaks, using the megaphone one of his goons hand over to him. “The name’s Mac. But you can call me Scorpion. I have two rules. Rule number one: I'm number one." He smirks.

Tony nearly scoffs and settles on shaking his head like some other people are doing.

"Rule number two: do what I say. Now, what I want from you all is simple really. Keep your mouth shut, don’t try anything cute, and we’ll have no problems. I’m trying to catch me a bug, and the last thing I need is for one of you dipshits to play the hero. So don't, okay? The best way to trap a spider is to offer some live bait. Emphasis on the ‘living’ aspect, but that can quickly change if you're not careful. Any takers? Let's get it out of the way now.”

Tony glances around to see if anyone will dare to try him but no one moves, himself included. He hates that. It feels cowardly somehow.

Scorpion grins approvingly. “Didn’t think so. There now, I knew you folks were a smart crowd. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to have a little chat with the Captain. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of my associates. Good day.” He’s gone the next moment.

There’s a murmur of unrest that starts rising around the room while some of the armed guards split up to do a few patrolling rounds on each deck level.

“Steve,” Tony whispers after a while. “Your phone...”

“I’ve got no signal,” Steve answers quietly and carefully slides the device over.

Tony grabs it and quickly looks it over. Then he curses quietly when he’s able to pinpoint why after some digging into the device's operating system. It has nothing to do with reception. There’s some kind of jamming device on the ship somewhere. It would make sense why they weren’t being forced to hand over their phones.

Tony’s heart is racing as he weighs his options. He looks around the room at all the pale and hopeless faces and knows he won't be able to just sit idly by. He steels himself and then murmurs, “I can boost the signal.”

"What?" Steve turns his gaze away from the armed guard to lock onto Tony.

"I could do something to boost the signal."

Steve instantly looks mutinous. “Tony, whatever you're thinking ... it's not a good idea. They have weapons.”

"I know, Steve, I was here. I saw." Tony goes quiet as the armed guard circles them before moving on to pace the perimeter of the room. When he's sure they won't be overheard, he continues, "We're sitting ducks. Someone has to do something."

"And you think that has to be you?" Steve argues with a disgruntled but concerned tone, keeping his voice low.

“No, listen,” Tony whispers beseechingly. “I just need a radio, an antenna, and a car battery. I could offset the jamming device, or at least weaken it to make an emergency call.”

“It’s dangerous,” Steve insists. "Please, Tony. You have to know it would - I couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to you."

“I know, I understand,” Tony says calmly, despite his nerves. “But doing nothing when I _know_ I could do something is just as dangerous. Do you trust me?”

Steve stares at him for a long moment. He seems to be at war with himself, and his side of the bond is brooding in shades of yellow and greys. “I do,” he finally says, resolutely.

“Then let me try,” Tony implores and reaches across the table to squeeze his hand affectionately, memorizing the planes of his Alpha's face in case it's the last time because he's not 100% sure about how this could all turn out. But he's made up his mind about it regardless. "Let me try."

"I really don't want to," Steve admits in a small voice. He turns his hand over so he can grip Tony's hand like he never plans on letting go. But he does, and he asks, "What do you need me to do?"

Tony gives him a grateful but subdued smile. “I just need a distraction. I hate to ask, but, do you think you can fake an asthma attack?”

Steve looks apprehensively amused. He nods, unquestioningly.

“Okay. On the count of three.” Tony counts and then exclaims. "Oh no! This young man has collapsed! Is there a doctor?"

Steve is a good actor, that much needs to be said. In under five minutes, he has a group of people surrounding him, gasping in concern and making such a fussing commotion over it that the armed goon in an ugly clown mask stalks over to check it out.

Tony slips out and is able to slink down a couple of levels, nearly making it to the last flight of stairs when he luckily spots the two henchmen walking up the stairs before they spot him and he ducks into a nearby alcove.

The two henchmen reach the top of the stairs, and one of them says, "Mac's really fucking us over with this small time petty shit. Don't know why he's got us wasting our manpower to try and capture that stupid bug bitch for Queenpin when we could be moving the new shipment of weapons we got on."

"Hell yeah. You can say it louder for the dealers and buyers in the back waiting to throw their money at us. Come on. Let's take a lap over this way."

Tony waits, making sure they are gone, before continuing down to the last deck where the cars are without being spotted by any patrolling bad guys. He gets most of what he needs from an old Volkswagen van that's nearby, glad that its owner was reckless enough to leave the doors unlocked.

He’s so busy tinkering with the self-made device he's putting together with the found parts and mulling over the small bit of conversation he overheard earlier that he kind of neglects to check over his shoulder every once in a while. He's contemplating the ramifications of high-grade weapons being distributed in the streets so deeply that he misses the armed bad guy creeping up on him. But he hears the grunt of pain that happens before the guy can reach him and Tony quickly spins around to find the clown-mask wearing fool lying face down at his feet. 

Tony frowns in confusion, prodding the guy with his foot and getting nothing but a pained gurgle in return.

“Oh, hey. You shouldn't kick a man while he's already down. Not very sportsman-like.”

Tony spins around, managing to bite back a yelp of surprise.

Spider-Man is hanging upside down in front of him and Tony gawks in surprise. “That a homemade signal booster? Neat-o. And would you look at that? You even added a two-piece extended electric cable connector block. You really know your stuff, huh? That’s some smart thinking. What’s your name, kid?”

“I'm Tony,” he breathes, star-struck and knows he's making an absolute idiot of himself but he can't help it. He's literally meeting his hero. "That's ... my name. My name is Tony, and that's who I am." Oh god, somebody just throw him into the Hudson.

Spider-Man offers a hand while his face crinkles with a smile under the mask and the Omega shakes Tony’s hand enthusiastically when it's accepted. “Hi, Tony. I’m Spider-Man. Well, of course I’m Spider-Man, who else dresses like this but me? Don't answer that. Dark Google has got me covered with that question, and let me tell you, there are just some things you can't unsee what's they've been seen. Anyway, how are you doing? Are you good? Situations like these are a rough business, so I don't blame you if you wanna freak out. But, hm, maybe that's not your deal since you're one of few trying to do something about these dicey circumstances. It’s a brave thing trying to get some help despite the odds working against you. You mind if I just … here, let’s shift the frequency a bit … _there!_ You should be able to contact the coast guard. I’m gonna go take out the baddies and get them gift-wrapped for the cavalry. Stay safe, Tony!”

Tony barely has time to say anything before Spider-Man is swinging away and out of sight. He manages to snap out of it and make the necessary calls. There's a moment where he eyes the bad guy at his feet and the small weapon that looks suspiciously like a plasma gun before he snaps it up and stuffs it carefully in the inner pocket of his jacket. He’s anxious to get back to Steve, so he backtracks, avoids running into any more henchmen, and finds Steve in the middle of a group of fawning Old Biddies. He smiles in relief, watching the way Steve tries to assure the group of grannies he’s perfectly fine with a pained expression.

Tony makes himself as visible as possible.

Steve is on his feet in a second, grabbing Tony by his shoulders, turning him this way and that way to assure himself. “How did it go? You okay? You’re not hurt or anything, are you? I was about ten seconds from going to find you. You missed Spider-Man, by the way. Took out those goons in the clown mask. Got 'em webbed t' the front of the ferry like one of those old mermaid statues at the helm of pirate ships.”

“Breathe,” Tony suggests and curls his hands over Steve’s elbows as the Alpha does so. He doesn't think Steve was aware that he was hyperventilating but he works Steve through it. When he's sure that the Alpha is calm, he says, “I’m okay. And I kinda met Spider-Man. So I didn’t really miss him.”

“That explains the look on your face,” Steve remarks with a wry grin. “I think we’re getting close to the harbor soon. Police are gonna wanna question us, I’m sure.”

“I can handle it,” Tony assures him, and wonders for a moment if he should tell Steve about the gun. He squeezes Steve’s elbows affectionately and decides to hold off on it for now. “I’m fine. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Scariest thing I've ever had to do,” Steve admits quietly. “Even scarier than that time Sam and Bucky tricked me into riding the Cyclone until I hurled. But I knew if anyone could do it, it was you.”

Tony wants to kiss him. He doesn’t, but he thinks about it the whole time they are questioned by some local cops, taking their statements with grim faces.

Spider-Man and Scorpion are nowhere to be seen, and it makes Tony wonder.

The, what could possibly be, plasma gun stays tucked close to his heart and he doesn't mention it once to the police.

He doesn't trust them.

.

.

.

After the excitement of the night, their little cozy apartment feels like a comfort to return to.

Steve hides away in the bathroom for a moment to talk to his Ma about what happened since she apparently spotted them in the background on the local news. Tony takes the time to bury the weapon deep in their closet until he can figure out what he might want to do about it.

Steve exits the bathroom and assures him that Sarah understands that they are okay. Tony tells him he's glad because he is. It's nice to have someone worry about him.

They both wordlessly decide to avoid going to sleep, their nerves still raw and unsettled by the night's events. They don't talk about the almost threat to their lives, or that they can't seem to stop finding any excuse to touch each other to reassure themselves. They just opt to watch episode after episode of the 1964 version of _The Addams Family_ until dawn breaks instead.

At one point, they stand in the kitchen and drink chamomile tea in companionable silence.

Tony finds himself thinking about how lucky he feels that he gets to do something so simple as that. That he's still alive to enjoy it. It somehow makes broaching the next subject easier. “Do you remember the Stark Pocket Printer that came out about, I’d say, a little over fifteen years ago?”

Steve sips his tea with a thoughtful frown before saying, “Yeah, of course. Everyone at my Junior High School wanted one. It was the ‘thing’ to have for any kid my age. Sam’s aunt got him one after he begged for three weeks straight, and we spent all summer playing with it. I think I still have some of the things we printed out in my old bedroom. It was an amazing toy.”

“I invented it.”

Steve gives him a baffled look and he puts his empty cup in the sink without even looking. “You - but … that would mean -” He pauses and looks like he’s doing some mental math. “You had to have been nine or ten at the time? That’s incredible. Really, really incredible.”

Tony smiles sadly, unsurprised by the way Steve doesn't question the validity of his announcement. “Thanks, but I’ll never get credit for it. Obadiah stole my idea, sold it to the engineering team at SI like it was his own. I should have learned my lesson after that first time, but I let him convince me it was a misunderstanding. Kept happening a few more times after that until I wised up.”

“Wait, he _stole_ your ideas?” Steve looks really pissed. “This the same guy you were supposed t' marry? The same guy who your parents assigned as your godfather?”

Tony nods shortly and hands his empty mug to Steve so he can put it in the sink for him. “I thought I could reason with Howard if I told him why I didn’t want to marry him. I had a whole list. He just called me naive. They love calling me naive when I buck against their wishes. Anyway, I put my foot down about the engagement, which I didn’t always do, you know? I was always reasonable, always did what was expected of me. But I thought, god, this one thing. I could fight against this one thing. That'd be okay, right? I'm always reasonable, they'd have to see it my way. So I confronted him about it the morning before my birthday. He disowned me on the spot when he realized I wasn't making some crass joke. Or, rather, he threatened that he would disown me if I didn’t play nice. I was so angry, I just stopped caring about behaving that day. I went to the movies later that night, and … well, you know the rest. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You really don’t. I understand. Well, as best as I can. I know I’ll never really understand, but I’ll try,” Steve swears, looking all noble and well-intentioned.

It makes Tony smile and he finds himself falling a little bit more in love with him.

“I’m happy you fought against it,” Steve goes on to say. “I’d hate to think about how things could have been if you hadn’t rebelled. I mean, stealing your ideas? This guy sounds so rotten. He would have treated you so lousy, Tony. I can’t even bear t' think about it.”

“Then don’t,” Tony simply says and lets himself imagine for one moment that he was the kind of brave soul that could kiss Steve without thinking twice. “I’ll never marry him. It doesn’t matter. I - what we have - I can’t ever go back. I don’t want to.” He exhales shakily as his eyes grow warm.

“You won’t have to, not if I have anything to say about it,” Steve promises and his side of the bond simmers in shades of ivory whites and rose golds and dusty pinks. “Even if, you know, our arrangement doesn’t work out, I’ll still make sure. We’ll always be friends, that I can promise, and I’ll always do what I can to make you happy.”

Tony inhales sharply at that, warm feelings of validation flooding him in an almost overwhelming way. “You’ll spoil me, Rogers,” he jokes thinly.

“Someone has to.” Steve has this intense look in his eye that makes Tony squirm. Then it’s gone before he can make heads or tails of it. “I appreciate you telling me all that. I know it's probably not easy to talk about, but I appreciate it.”

Tony shrugs, but all he really wants to do is hug Steve. He spends a moment thinking about how he wants to phrase his next question. “Can you tell me more about Peggy?”

Steve looks caught off guard by the question but he nods, gesturing to the island counter. They take a moment to sit down beside each other before he says, “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want to tell me.”

Steve takes a moment to think. Then he’s speaking, explaining how he met Peggy in woodshop class when she begged him to help her salvage a very horrid looking birdhouse she was trying to turn in for her final grade. He talks about what his first thoughts of her were: that she was brilliant, confident, kind, takes no shit and has a killer right hook. He talks about his fondness for her eccentricity and the way she likes to prove everyone's first opinion of her as an Omega wrong. How brave he thinks she is for raising Sharon by herself, and how upset she was when he offered to ‘step up’ after she told him she was pregnant and that the father was long gone; Sharon never met the man and Peggy never wants her to, but she never explained why.

Tony finds himself being intrigued instead of jealous like he thought he might be. Steve talks about Peggy with a tone of respect and a hint of poetry. Tony finds it rather sweet, and his own feelings of fondness grow when Steve goes on to explain all the ways Peggy shot him down over the years before he finally understood that he wasn’t being fair to her or respecting her 'no'.

“She was right,” Steve says in the end when the clock on the stove reads six o’clock in the morning. “It was infatuation. Took me a while to see it, but I do now.”

Tony watches him yawn for a moment before he asks, “You think you could ever fall in love and recognize it for what it is?”

Steve pauses and gives him a measuring look before he smiles. “Stranger things have happened,” he simply says, like he’s in on a joke that Tony knows nothing about. “What about you? Think you could ever fall in love?”

Tony’s mouth goes dry and he has to look away, afraid that his face will betray how he currently feels for Steve. “You know, I fall in love with my inventions all the time. Out of the two of us, maybe I’m the one with the most experience.”

Steve laughs at that and Tony can’t fight down the grin that overtakes his mouth in response. He stands to walk over to the sink and wash their mugs. “Suppose so. You’ll have to tutor me then. What's a guy expected t' do when he's in love?”

“Oh, all sorts of impossibly ridiculous things,” Tony remarks lightly, even though his heartbeat is picking up double time. They have to change the subject. “So what are your Rut cravings like?”

“My Rut cravings?" Steve echoes, putting the mugs in the nearby strainer before he turns to face Tony. He suddenly seems distracted by Tony’s fingers for a moment. Then he glances up and flushes when Tony raises an eyebrow questioningly. “I’m just hungry all the time, mostly. And anxious. I’m feeling a mixture of both right now.”

Tony cocks his head curiously at that. “What do you have to be anxious about?”

“Your comfort,” Steve admits as his flush deepens while his side of the bond colors in pinks and yellows. “I keep wanting to ask you about how you feel. If you're overwhelmed by what happened on the ferry last night. If your feet hurt. If you're hungry. If there’s something you _want._  Is there? I mean, anything you want? You can ask. I’ll give it to you.”

Tony nearly chokes on his own spit at that, suddenly reminded of the dream he had last night. He knows Steve doesn’t mean it like _that_ , but Tony can’t help but to sigh over it nonetheless. He swallows and clears his throat. “M’fine, Steve. I don’t - I’m mostly worried about you. I want you to be comfortable. I want to know what I can do to help make your … your Time easier for you.”

“You’re doing perfectly so far. Got no complaints, honey.”

“Can I - should I make you something to eat?” Tony asks, voice strained as his body fills with warmth at the affectionate tone in his Alpha’s voice. “I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking, but I know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If you - if that’s something I can do for you? You said you're always hungry. I want to … I want to feed you.”

Steve’s eyes go dark and intense. He says, “Yeah. I think … that’ll work for me just fine. Never one to turn down a PB&J.” He continues to stare. “C’mere. I’ll move out of the way but … would you mind if I watched?”

Tony swallows as his nerves start going every which way inside his body. “That’s - I - no. You can - you can watch me,” he stammers as he tries to distract himself from the way his face goes hot as he roots around in the cabinets for everything he needs. It’s ... well, the thing is that it just feels like they are having two different conversations at once.

A rough blanket of tension suddenly settles in the air between them, and it’s so thick that it's nearly oppressive in its tangible weight. If Tony's hands tremble while he makes the first sandwich, well, neither of them mention it.

Steve’s gaze is focused on his hands, fixated.

Tony can feel his skin prickle hotly under that gaze, and it sends a thrill through him, to have Steve watch him in such a way.

“Make another,” Steve suggests, not once looking up from Tony’s hands. He clears his throat. “Please. I don’t think that’s going to be enough.”

Tony bites his bottom lip and nods as he moves to make another. “Tell me when to stop,” he says quietly.

Steve suddenly inhales and mumbles something that sounds agreeable.

Tony makes at least four sandwiches in total before Steve tells him to stop. He slices them into triangles because that’s the way Steve says he prefers it. He turns to the older man, holding up the plate to him.

Steve just looks him in the eyes for a few moments, a blush crawling up the back of his neck to the tip of his ears as he says, “I'd like it if you fed me ... please.”

Tony white-knuckles the plate and thanks every star above that he doesn’t get wet then and there from that comment alone, but dear god, it’s a really fucking close one. His hands shake slightly as he lifts half a sandwich from the very top of the stack before bringing a corner up to Steve’s waiting mouth.

Steve holds his gaze as he tips forward and takes a bite, chews, then swallows before repeating it all over again until the sandwich is no longer there. He waits for the other half, and Tony indulges him, and this goes on and on for what feels like hours, Tony kind of has no sense of time while he's trapped in Steve's heated gaze. He feeds the Alpha until the plate is completely cleared, and he feels lightheaded and floaty by the end of it.

Tony’s fingers are sticky with jelly by the end of it all, and Steve catches one of them before Tony can bring those fingers to his own mouth. He had planned on cleaning them with his tongue, but Steve redirects the hand to his lips and suddenly his fingers are sinking into the Alpha’s warm mouth, and his knees nearly buckle at the tenderness of it.

Steve continues to stare him down the whole time and Tony can feel his entire body tremble, no longer able to resist the urge of getting wet. Especially when Steve mumbles, “Perfect. So fucking perfect, Tony.” around his fingers.

Tony groans breathlessly, and he’s so turned on that more slick comes out as his body clenches with need, desperate at the emptiness he feels there. He begins to shake. “Steve,” he warns, gasping when the other man swirls his tongue between his fingers. His body clenches in a succession of two this time.

Steve's goddamn oral fixation is driving Tony up the wall. He's flicking and sucking on Tony's fingers like he's grateful, and Tony can't stop thinking about if he had died last night, he wouldn't have gotten the pleasure of experiencing this. And then suddenly it's still not enough. He wants to be greedy. He wants to ask for more. He wants it so bad that he bucks against his initial instincts of shame and guilt. He gets a little angry instead, thinking about how he's tired of being virtuous because the ghosts of his past haunt him each time his more carnal desires begin to manifest.

Steve takes his fingers in deep - deep enough that Tony can nearly feel the back of Steve's throat flutter around his fingertips. That's the last straw.

Finally, Tony snaps, “ _Jesus,_  Steve! If you don’t stop doing that with my fingers I’m going to drag you to bed and sit on your face.”

Steve chokes around his fingers and Tony can’t help the way his fingers twitch against Steve’s tongue. Then Steve's face goes pink mostly in annoyance as he takes Tony’s fingers out of his mouth with a wet sound, and he’s complaining, “You couldn’t have waited until I wasn’t sucking on your fingers to spring that on me?” Then, just as quickly adds, “Get on the bed.”

Tony gets deeply wet just off of the command alone. But something, maybe a primal Omega instinct, is brewing for a play fight, for a chase. He says, “Make me.”

Steve’s eyes darken at that and his lips curl with heated amusement. “Yeah? Is that what you want, honey?”

Tony has to squeeze his thighs together, he can feel more and more slick starting to seep out and slide down his thighs. “Damn it, that’s not fair,” he complains breathlessly.

Steve laughs as his own face gets a little red. “I don’t always like to play fair when it’s something I want,” he admits.

Tony knows all too well, his mind thinking back to last week to all those instances where Steve introduced him to those board games and card games, which Steve had no problem with cheating during when he realized he was losing the upper hand. Tony starts to wordlessly undress, not giving himself or Steve time to think about what he's doing as he walks backwards to the bed because it’s not like he isn’t in the habit of playing unfair either.

Steve’s gaze is fixed on every movement, muscles tensing like a lion getting ready to pounce and, god, Tony loves how drunkenly powerful it makes him feel to get his Alpha to look at him like _that._

Tony only manages to sit, completely naked, on the edge of the bed before Steve is right _there,_ pressing him back into their sheets while he slams his mouth onto Tony’s, opening him up with his tongue like Tony’s mouth is a feast and he’s a starving man. He loves when Steve kisses him like that, and he lets him drown in the sensations without a fight when Steve pushes him further up the bed. Steve slides down his body to make himself comfortable on his knees at the edge of the bed and between Tony’s quivering thighs.

Tony keeps his gaze on the ceiling as he goes pink all over at the way Steve is staring at his naked body. 

"Safeword?" Steve asks hoarsely.

" _French Toast_ ," Tony answers shakily, feeling really exposed, but he sighs with a light moan when Steve massages his inner thighs comfortingly.

Steve waits until he's completely relaxed before he lowers his head and gives his opening a lewd and messy kiss that has a sharp lick of pleasure rolling up Tony's spine, a groan punching out when Steve flexes his tongue in a way that should be _illegal, Jesus_ , he’s gonna fucking cum already.

He whines as his thighs shake and then Steve’s pulling away to watch Tony’s body wink desperately at him and he makes a sympathetic but pleased noise that makes Tony’s body burn with arousal and embarrassment.

“You’re so wet, honey. You like my tongue that much, huh?”

Tony grabs a pillow and tries to cover his red face with it as his thighs continue to shake like they are never going to stop. His heart is thrashing wildly in his chest and he’s so painfully hard.

“No, come on, hey, don’t hide from me, Tony. You ain't gotta be shy, sweetheart.”

“Easy for you to say!” Tony snaps, annoyed and mortified but no less turned on, damn it. “I’ve never had anyone do - do _this_ to me before. And it feels so - so -” He’s startled into a sharp gasp when Steve dives back in, prodding Tony's gushing hole with his tongue and Tony's thighs quake even more with the pleasure. “ _Oh_ \- that’s -” He whines with another choked cry, rocking into Steve’s tongue.

Steve pulls away with a wet sound while his side of the bond colors with oranges and reds. “I’m sorry, honey. Didn’t realize you were saying something, what with that pillow muffling it.” He gently pries it away and tosses it out of reach. “There we go. Now. You were saying something? Go ahead. Finish what you were saying. I’m listening.”

“I hate you,” Tony swears around a groan staring dazedly up at the ceiling as his vision swims. His hips wiggle impatiently towards the edge of the bed where Steve is kneeling, seeking out the pressure of his tongue again. “I hate you so much. _God_. Please, Steve, _please_. I want - I need you to just -”

Steve shushes him and spreads his thighs apart even further and Tony trembles at how exposed and vulnerable it makes him but then he’s not caring the next moment because Steve is putting his tongue back inside of him.

Tony starts panting as he breaks out in a light sheen of sweat, rocking faster and faster, nearly riding Steve’s tongue while the Alpha eats him out with such shameless _commitment._  “Oh … _fuck ..._  Alpha …” He rocks his hips even faster. “Fuck, I - I think I’m about to die - _fuck ..._ ” he groans as his hands scramble against the sheets.

Steve chuckles darkly, the look he gives Tony from between his trembling thighs is an _indecent_ mix of tenderness and pure possessiveness. There's nothing but bass and timbre in his voice as he pulls away to reply, “You’re not gonna die, honey. You’re just gonna cum.”

And Tony absolutely does the moment Steve starts eating him out like he’s starving for it. His body completely seizing up as he gives a high pitched and throaty shout while he starts contracting wildly around Steve’s tongue. The orgasm slams into his body like a freight train and it’s nearly too much; he finds himself trying to crawl away in the opposite direction in an aimless fashion because damn, that orgasm fried his brain.

Steve laughs and grabs his ankle before Tony tips himself off the bed in all the commotion. “Honey, where are you going?”

Tony just mumbles about how he doesn’t even fucking know before he flops uselessly onto his side and takes a moment to catch his bearings and his breath.

Steve's suddenly flipping him on his stomach. "Let's try this one more time with a different view."

Tony cries out as Steve begins eating him out again but from behind this time, his face down in the sheets and his ass is in the air as the Alpha just goes at it like he never plans on stopping. Tony comes with a strangled and wet gasp before he even realizes that it's happening.

Steve flips him over onto his back, giving him maybe a minute or two while he's licking Tony's stomach clean.

Tony nearly pulls out Steve's hair when the Alpha begins to swallow him down. "Oh, oh, you're going to kill me."

Steve pulls off his cock with a lewd sound and does this wicked twisting upstroke that has Tony trembling and gripping wildly at the sheets under him. "If you're still coherent then I'm not doing something right."

"Untrue," Tony whimpers. "Untrue, untrue, untrue. You're - that's - I'm gonna -" 

Steve just responds to the warning by swallowing him down again and taking him in as deep as he can, fluttering the back of his throat in a way that has Tony coming so hard that he nearly blacks out. He doesn't. 

Tony groans incomprehensibly when Steve carefully flips him onto his stomach again.

"One more time," is what Steve says before he begins to lick his way inside Tony again.


	9. YEAR 1: PART I - VOLUME II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - thanks very much to all your kind and supportive words 
> 
> next chapter is gonna be from Steve's POV for sure

**YEAR 1  
VOLUME II**

Steve’s tongue is like a hurricane, and it turns Tony’s limbs to jelly, his mind to mush, and exhausts him enough to put him right to sleep.

Tony wakes up and feels like he’s still floating. The bed underneath his body and the pillow his head is resting on feel like two fluffy clouds. The cotton sheets draped over his naked waist feels like silk against his skin all because of his good mood. He startles a bit when there is a gentle touch to his bare ankle but sighs at the affectionate squeeze that follows.

“You’re up sooner than I expected,” Steve comments from somewhere near his feet. There’s the unmistakable sound of his pencil scratching softly against his sketchpad. “What do I have to do to keep you still for another twenty minutes?”

Tony allows himself a small smile, not bothering to open his eyes as he relaxes back into his sprawl. “Maybe do that thing you did with your tongue last night again,” he muses lightheartedly, his face coloring with his boldness but Steve makes him want to be brave about his desires, makes him want to be confident.

Steve laughs in a way that gives Tony butterflies, his side of the bond unfolds in pretty shades of pinks and reds and oranges. “Oh, sweetheart ... you need it again already, huh?” he teases, smug in a way that Tony finds so mouthwateringly attractive. Like how dare he? And furthermore, yes he does. “You know, for a moment there, wasn't sure which way you liked it. Guess that’s why I kept at it for so long. Practice makes practical, as I’ve said.”

“Liar. You knew _exactly_ what you were doing.” Tony shivers just thinking about it, even though his face is hot with an even deeper blush. The audacity of this man. “I suppose if I can’t have your tongue for my cooperation, then maybe tell me a story. What time is it?”

“Half past three. Sam and Riley want to meet up around nine, so we have plenty of time before we should start getting ready. What story should I be telling you?”

Tony doesn’t reply straight away. He takes a moment to listen to the way Steve’s pencil never pauses over paper once. Then he says, “Your parents. How they met.”

Steve hums thoughtfully and Tony almost wishes he could see the half-grin he knows is there, but he doesn’t want to ruin whatever drawing Steve had felt inspired to do. He says, “Alright. But where to begin...” He sighs thoughtfully. “My Da was born into affluence, much like you, I guess you could say. His parents had a successful vineyard he was expected to inherit, and an Alpha of similar stature he was expected to wed. My Ma came from the other side of the social spectrum. Her parents were pig farmers. It’s completely chance that they met. There was this Christmas party that my Da’s parents threw when he was eighteen, and they wanted a pig for the centerpiece. My Ma’s brother was supposed t' make the delivery, but he got sick outta nowhere and so she had t' go.

“She brought the pig around so that my Da’s parents could examine it. When they deemed it suitable for their party, she took it down to the kitchens to slaughter. My Da was already there, reading a book of poetry. I'm told he was a reader, loved to read anything he could get his hands on. Anyway, Ma brings the pig down to the kitchens and Da falls in love with the little creature. Da loved animals. But Ma had this thing against the rich, and told him rather bluntly, that he should leave if he didn’t want to get any blood splashed on his pretty clothes, or worse, faint.”

“She didn’t,” Tony laughs.

“Oh, she really did. My Da was horrified and called her a barbarian and a brute. She called him a spoiled child.”

Tony snorts, eyes still closed. “So no love at first sight?”

“Da threw flour on her and freed the pig. Ma retaliated by throwing him over her shoulder and tossing him in the marble water fountain. Definitely not love.”

Tony snickers. “Then what happened?”

Steve makes a thoughtful sound as he takes a few seconds to sketch in silence before he responds, “Ma stewed over it, especially when my Da’s parents took her behavior as a grave insult. They said some rather nasty things and my Ma’s parents responded in kind. The families feuded over it for a few years. Fueled the gossip of the locals for a long while. Then one day, while my Da was planning his wedding, he sent Ma a letter, apologizing, saying that guilt had been eating at him for how things turned out.

“Ma asked if they could meet in person so she could apologize too. They took a walk, got to know each other a little and parted on good terms. A few weeks passed, and Da asked for another walk. Ma accepted. Then the walks just kept happening nearly every day. Ma says it just hit her one day that she loved Da more than anything in the world, and she knew she would die if she never told him so. She didn’t really expect anything to happen. She knew he had an obligation to his family, that his parents would never accept her as a suitor but Da said he didn’t care, that he loved her too despite their backgrounds.

“So they saved up every penny they could to run away together when they found out my Da was pregnant with me. Came to America. Bought that house my Ma’s living in now. They got married and enjoyed it the whole time my Da was expecting. Ma says Da used t' be so excited about it. That he wanted t' have lots and lots of kids after me. Wanted a whole audience he could read his favorite books to. But, carrying me was hard for him right from the start. Da went through a lot of pain, and there were doctors that warned him that he’d be at great risk if he carried to term. Da didn’t care. He really wanted to give Ma a kid that was a mix of both of them. Then I came along, and well, Ma assures me that Da had never been happier than he was in those nine months leading up to my birth.”

Tony notices that his side of the bond is bleeding with muted greys and blues. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Steve exhales shakily and it squeezes at Tony’s heart. “Da had a hard labor with me, even though I was really small. He died giving birth,” he confesses.

“I’m … I’m so sorry,” Tony says quietly. "Jesus, I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve clears his throat several times and it squeezes at Tony's heart again. “It was a long time ago,” is all he says. “And Ma always did what she could t' make up the difference. Think it was harder for her than it was for me. You can move now.”

Tony shifts and sits up, freezing at the sight of the drawing Steve is aiming in his direction so he can see.

The stroke lines are both bold and stunning. There is a sort of whimsical touch to it that adds to the realistic undertones. It's … well, Tony could hardly believe that was him, sprawled against the sheets like a sort of sleeping embodiment of virtue. The curves of his face are drawn with soft innocence, but the bends and arches of his body are carefully expressed with a flattering sort of saintly lure and charm. Quite honestly, he looks like a debauched angel.

“What do you think? Your silence is making me nervous,” Steve remarks after a while with a half-grin as he sits in a fold-out chair at the end of the bed.

“It’s stunning,” Tony says carefully as he narrows his eyes at it. He examines it a bit more as his mouth wiggles thoughtfully. Then he says, “I think you exaggerated a lot of my features though. There’s no way I look like that in real life.”

“No exaggeration.” Steve’s smile widens into a full one. “If anything, I don’t really think I did you the exact justice you deserve. You look like this and then some, but I’ll work on getting it just right.”

Tony stares at him for a long time before he responds, “You really are something else. Have you slept at all?”

Steve blushes slightly, fidgeting. “Ah, no. Not really. I get too … I’m too keyed when my Time is right on the horizon. Ain't always easy t' just sleep as all that.”

“You’ve been drawing me the whole time I've been sleep?” Tony gives him an incredulous look when the Alpha nods to confirm. “I -” He swallows against the surge of emotions that tries to swell in his throat. He's gonna do it. He's gonna be brave. He trusts Steve with all of him, and knows, especially after last night, that Steve won't judge him for asking for what he wants. So he's gonna do it. His face colors as he blurts, “I really want to put my mouth on you.”

Steve’s lips part slightly at that.

Tony feels emboldened by his shock. “You didn’t really give me much of a chance last night. I mean, I’ve never … I’ve never done it but I would like to do it for you. Can I?”

Steve runs a shaky hand through his golden hair as he laughs humorlessly. “It’ll be over quick,” he warns and Tony has to squeeze his thighs together as a wave of desire overtakes him. “You’re very beautiful, Tony. I ain't made of stone. If you touch me, I promise it’ll be over before either of us can blink.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Tony replies in a strangled tone as he slides off the bed and gets down on his knees before Steve. “Safe word?”

“ _Mona Lisa._ ”

Tony smiles really slowly up at him and finds it intriguing how Steve seems to shiver under his gaze. He wonders if Steve likes it when he does that (smiles that way) and makes a mental note to test it out more until he can come across something conclusive. For now, he reaches out with steady hands, curling his fingers on the outside of Steve’s thighs as he shuffles closer until he’s nearly between Steve’s knees.

 _Here goes nothing_ , he thinks as he cocks his head and looks at Steve partially from underneath his eyelashes. “Can you tell me if ... if you like what I'm doing?” he asks softly, enjoying the way Steve’s thighs flex anxiously under his hands, and his side of the bond starts swimming in wine colors. “I want to know what you like … how to please you.”

Steve swallows dryly as his flush deepens and his pupils dilate. He reaches up and cradles Tony’s jaw between his hands, leaning down to kiss him slow, deep, and lazily until they are both riled up by it. He stands without warning, leaving Tony gasping on his knees as he looks up dazedly at his Alpha. Steve just stares down at him, that same heated gaze he had last night when he was between Tony’s legs.

Tony feels like he’s being flayed alive under that look, his heart does a wild tango in his chest, and goosebumps pebble across his skin when it hits him that he’s completely naked and at Steve’s mercy. The fact that Steve is fully clothed turns him on even more, and his cock twitches with pre-cum. He's not embarrassed by it, but again, he trusts Steve with all of him so it's no wonder that it serves as more of a kink than to deter him.

Steve cups his chin with his right hand and runs his thumb roughly over Tony’s bottom lip, nearly coaxing his mouth open with it.

Tony holds his gaze and skims his tongue over the rough digit as he whispers, “Steve?”

Steve lets him go and says, “Come get it, sweetheart.”

Tony groans as quietly as he can at the command, face going hot when he feels his cock stand at attention while he shakily reaches up and starts undoing Steve’s jeans. He pushes them down mid-thigh, as well as Steve’s underwear. Then he stares because … honestly? Steve’s dick is a true work of art personified - big but not too much, circumcised with a certain thickness that makes Tony’s mouth water.

“You can touch me,” Steve encourages lowly, that same rich timbre he gets about him when he’s well and truly turned on. Tony loves it, loves that he can get Steve there. “It’s okay, honey. It’s just you and me and I think you’re perfect.”

Tony can feel himself clench and spasm at the praise, feeling the slippery glide of slick leaking down his thighs. He gets so wet for Steve without the Alpha really having to try. Maybe that's what love does. He's got more important things to worry about, for now, however, he pushes that thought to the back of his mind. Then he doesn’t waste another minute. He carefully curls the fingers of both hands around Steve’s beautiful dick, just feeling him out, not really stroking, more so petting, sizing.

Steve shudders under his caresses, hips jumping forward a bit eagerly. “Yes, that’s - that’s good.”

“Bet I can make it better,” Tony promises with a shaky grin, and he knows he’s trembling slightly, not because he’s nervous, but because he’s excited. “Tell me how this feels.”

Steve lets out a short sound at the first kitten lick Tony gives to the head. “G-good. That’s really good - _oh god_.”

Tony is slowly sinking down, holding his mouth in a firm circle so that each inch of skin ripples against his lips, mindful of his teeth. He goes down as far as he can go, choking when it hits the back of his throat, making his eyes water and then he pulls off completely. His lips taste salty with the heated flavor of Steve’s skin but Tony finds he doesn’t mind the taste.

“How are we doing up there, Mr. Rogers?” Tony rasps with a playful grin and he laughs when Steve’s dick twitches against his mouth and in his hand where he’s keeping a steady grip at the base. “You talk about how beautiful and perfect I am, but your dick is a _gift_ , Steve. You can cum in my mouth if you want.”

“ _Christ_ , Tony. This is going to be over really fucking fast in a minute,” Steve gasps as his flushes deepens, hips stuttering forward while he pulsates under Tony’s loose grip.

Tony doesn’t have a response to that. He suddenly wants it so bad that he’s swallowing Steve down as far as he can fit him, choking again as his gaze goes misty, but he loves it, he _loves_ it. He finds a rhythm that they both like which includes his hands and his tongue, gliding up and down, twisting and flicking his wrist until Steve is begging brokenly, desperately. It gives Tony a sort of high he’s never experienced, an intoxicating power trip he wants to drag out forever, and the urgency of it has him reaching down with one hand to work himself at the same tempo he’s using to get Steve off with his mouth.

He’s moaning around Steve he’s sure, overwhelmed about how good it feels to touch himself under Steve’s watchful gaze as he tries to keep himself from thrusting too deep into Tony's mouth. Tony pulls off quickly to assure Steve that he can fuck his mouth, that he wants it, wants to choke and take everything he can give, don’t worry about being gentle.

Steve groans loudly at that, thrusting forward almost mindlessly, fucking deep and firmly into Tony’s pliant mouth, a rough grip to his hair, pulling in a way that has Tony seeing stars and coming so hard that he nearly chokes when that sets off Steve as well, thick hot spurts shooting down his throat. He swallows as much of what he can while Steve wheezes and stutters to a stop. Some leaks from the corner of Tony’s mouth, sliding down his chin, and before he can reach up to wipe it away, Steves is on his knees with him already licking it up and following it back into Tony’s mouth as he continues to pant.

Steve takes the next five minutes to kiss Tony passionately like he wants him to drown, and by the end of it, Tony’s left gasping for air, hands curled in Steve’s shirt, probably looking as wrecked as he feels.

They spend the next few moments after that just holding each other, and catching their breaths.

“Think I’m falling asleep,” Steve mumbles into the curve of his neck. “Come lay with me?”

Tony nods and they don’t get up right away as they should, but they savor the hug they are engaged in for a little longer before reluctantly drawing apart to climb into the bed.

Steve gets undressed completely and slides between the sheets with Tony. He spoons Tony against him, hugging him to his chest and he's pressed so tightly that he's like a human jetpack.

Tony likes the way they fit together, likes feeling Steve's dick resting softly against his ass, likes the way his skin tingles at every point of contact. He feels Steve’s breathing start to even out after a while and finds that he drifts off as well.

He dreams about the time he was fourteen with everything to prove. That time when he hacked into the Pentagon, just to prove he can (mostly to himself), and definitely not because he was feeling bitterly isolated from his peers at his boarding school.

He gets caught of course, and a Beta man named Agent Coulson with nicely parted hair, smiling eyes, and a dry wit pays him a visit during his AP Spanish class.

Coulson waits until they are left in an isolated classroom by Headmaster Killian, who eyes them both curiously and suspiciously before he leaves.

Coulson takes the time to assure him that the Headmaster doesn’t know about Tony’s extracurricular activities before he goes on to say that he wanted to meet Tony in person and explain why he shouldn’t be making an ass of the American Government.

Coulson then gives him a pack of gummy worms with a benevolent expression, pats him on the shoulder and leaves.

Tony stops testing the integrity of national security after that, and he never sees the agent again.

.

.

.

Tony wakes up before Steve does and decides to let him sleep a little longer while he monopolizes the bathroom. Feeling nervous about dinner with Steve’s friends, he decides to wear a pair of dark blue slacks and a white button down, keeping the sleeves rolled up to his elbow for a more casual feel. He brushes his hair and wears his best shoes.

Tony wants to make a good impression.

Steve wakes up in his own time, glancing grumpily at the empty space beside him and then glaring at the clock on the nightstand.

Tony smiles behind his cup of coffee while he leans against the sink in the kitchen and watches him. He says, “What’s that face for, lamb? You looked like you were sleeping pretty good over there.”

Steve hones in on him with an intensity that never fails to give Tony butterflies. “Sleep was fine. It’s the waking up alone part I’m not too fond of,” he admits gruffly, voice hoarse from sleep. His eyes trail down Tony’s body as he climbs out of their bed. “You look…”

Tony waits for him to finish with that thought as he hides his grin behind another sip. He raises an eyebrow. “I look, what? Ready to go? Cause I am. And you should get ready too. Because you look very naked.”

Steve goes a bit pink but he makes no move to cover himself up and Tony savors his boldness. “Yeah,” he says shortly. He clears his throat, drinking Tony in again before he shifts away. “Yeah, I’ll need about an hour or so.”

Tony hums as he drains the last of his coffee and pours himself another cup. He watches Steve pace around the room, grabbing whatever he needs for the shower he’s about to take before he pauses suddenly. Tony asks, “Something wrong?”

Steve glances his way and then at the door and then back to him.

Tony grins in amusement. “What’s wrong?”

“The door,” Steve says shortly, nearly grunting like a caveman.

“What about the door?” Tony presses between sips.

“I …” Steve twitches with a disgruntled look of concern. “I can’t explain why, but I feel like if I don’t check the locks one more time, I might die.”

Tony doesn’t mean to laugh. He really, _really_ doesn't. “Fussy,” he teases as Steve goes red. “Okay, mister. Go do your thing.”

Steve seems hilariously relieved as he races to the door and inspects it with the same level of focus he gets when he’s sketching something. After about a few minutes or so, he nods, satisfied.

“All good?” Tony asks with a grin.

Steve nods again and begins to walk to the bathroom. He closes the door. He opens it again but doesn’t come out. Then it sounds like he’s muttering to himself before he shuts the door again.

Tony isn’t surprised when it’s opened less than a minute later.

“I’m just … just going to leave this open, okay?” Steve calls out from the bathroom. “So that if you, ah, if you need anything … in case you need anything.”

“Sure,” Tony replies as he snickers. “I’ll be right out here.”

“Okay,” Steve is saying, mostly in a rhetorical way like he’s trying to convince himself of it. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony echoes with a grin.

Steve huffs as he starts the shower. “You know I ain't too far gone t' notice you havin' fun at my expense,” he calls out.

Tony’s grin stretches into a mischievous smile. “Trust me, Steve. When I start enjoying myself, you’ll know.”

It sounds like Steve has dropped something in the tub with a mangled swear and Tony has to really laugh then before he moves to sit at his favorite spot at the island counter.

Then it hits him. He forgot all about the plasma gun.

“FRIDAY, you up?”

“ _Always for you, Boss._ ”

Tony smiles but lowers his voice. “Listen, I need you to do me a favor, baby girl.”

“ _Anything_ ,” FRIDAY swears right away, and her blatant loyalty is enough to make him go misty-eyed. “ _How can I help?_ ”

“Say you were a criminal, working in the underground ring of weapons dealing. What would your target areas be?”

“ _Low-income communities._ ”

“Yeah, that’s my thinking exactly.” Tony ponders over his next words. Then he asks, “What if the weapons were … exported, let’s say. How do you get them here without the law noticing it?”

“ _Powerful friends in powerful places. Forged permits, and perhaps a sort of front for the business to mislead anyone who you wouldn’t want sticking their nose in it._ ”

Tony drums his fingers thoughtfully and takes a moment to listen to the way the water spurting from the jet spray slaps against the shower walls and tub in a way that makes it obvious Steve is moving around under it.

“ _Boss?_ ”

“Just thinking,” Tony simply explains. “Let’s put a pin in this conversation for now, but in the meantime, can you pull up any footage from the ferry Steve and I rode last night? Examine the weapons and let me know what you make of them or what you're able to compare them to. I couldn’t place them, but I know you’re clever enough to figure something out.”

“ _You flatter me. Consider it done._ ”

“And, uh, don’t tell Steve please.” Tony hates to even have to ask. “At least, not yet. Not until we have something concrete to go off of. I’ll check back in with you later.”

“ _Copy._ ” FRIDAY folds inside of herself to do some research after Tony gives her extra details to make it easier to pinpoint the exact ferry he and Steve rode.

Tony lets her work on the backend while he distracts himself with building his new phone. He starts by soldering printed circuit boards together and working from there. When Steve is dressed and ready to go, he’s still working on it, barely noticing when the Alpha calls his name multiple times to get his attention.

“Should I tell Sam and Riley we’re gonna be running late? I’d hate to interrupt.”

That makes it through the fog, and Tony blinks before swinging his gaze over to Steve, who is leaning against the front door with his arms crossed and an amusedly fond half-grin. He looks so handsome dressed in dark slacks and a button-down, his coloring matching Tony’s outfit to a charming degree. And, yeah, okay, suddenly that’s a thing Tony finds that he’s into - the matching.

“You clean up really nicely,” Tony compliments, dropping everything in his hands to go hunting for his jacket.

“When the occasion calls for it. Thought it was only fair since you, you know, look like _that_ ,” Steve responds, reaching out quickly to steal the jacket from Tony so he can help him put it on. “Sam and Riley want us to meet them at Wing Palace. I hope you like arcade games because they will most definitely be issuing some sort of challenge or another.”

“I’ve always found the idea interesting but never got the chance to try anything like it,” Tony admits as they exit the apartment together.

“Well, let me just say, I absolutely ain't condoning any cheating of any kind,” Steve declares. Then he adds, “Unless we’re losing. In which case: no sacrifice, no victory.”

Tony laughs all the way to the cab before he responds, “Oh I know all about your stance on that, believe me. But no worries, lamb. I'm a Rogers and we play to win. Same team, right?”

“Same team,” Steve echoes with a fond grin.

.

.

.

Wing Palace is basically a boozy playground with nothing but UV-lighting hanging overhead, which makes everything gleam like some sort of glow-in-the-dark indoor amusement park. There are open bars on the ground level, which contains coin-operated claw machines, pinball machines, electro-mechanical games, redemption games, billiards, and air hockey tables. The upper level holds the dining area, full of tall tables and leather cushioned booths.

That’s where Steve and Tony meet up with the two Betas, who have already claimed a booth of their own, and are munching on appetizers and sipping on beer when they approach.

Tony takes the time during the initial introductions to appreciate how handsome the interracial couple is.

Sam is more open and outgoing, using his hands to gesture wildly, with a whip snap wit that never once fails to make everyone who can hear it laugh. Riley is more reserved and polite, smiling with a sort of lovestruck fondness whenever his husband does most of the talking for the both of them.

“Now that everybody knows everybody, and can put a name to a face, what are we ordering?” Sam asks to the whole table, picking up his menu with a thoughtful frown. “Riley and I were already pre-gaming it as you can see. You two need to catch up.”

“Did you want some?” Riley is offering the basket of onion rings.

Steve turns it down but Tony does no such thing because he’s starving.

“Order whatever you want, it’s on us,” Sam adds, taking long pulls off his beer.

“You’re the ones outta town, we couldn’t let you do that,” Steve protests.

Tony mutters, between bites, “Yeah we could. We totally could. Why can't you let people be nice to us, Steve?”

Riley and Sam laugh, charmed.

Steve huffs but his smile is no less fond.

Sam says, “ _Oooh_ , I like him. I like you. I really do. That fool over there will argue for hours before he ever lets us do anything nice for him. I will be deferring to your judgment from now on, thank you very much.”

Tony grins, feeling more relaxed under the friendly atmosphere. “I have no problem being your 'in', but only if you float me some of those embarrassing stories Steve has been warning me so much about.”

Steve scoffs and rests his arm on the edge of the booth behind Tony, turning a bit more towards him to press their legs together.

Tony can’t resist leaning a little more into him, hoping that it’s dark enough to hide the way his cheeks go a little pink from both of their daring.

Sam grins at them. “I am an open book when it comes to making Steve look like an ass. He’s like a brother to me that way,” he remarks and ignores Steve dry scoff. “Let’s focus on the food first, and then we can get to the goods.” He wiggles his eyebrows before hiding behind his menu.

Steve picks up his own menu and pushes it over so they can hide behind it. “I’m not all too picky. 'cept for onion rings. Ain't a fan of those.”

Tony makes a mental note of it before he starts eyeing the menu options seriously. And there are a lot of options. “I’m starting to understand why they call this place Wing Palace. Cotton candy flavored wings? What kind of freaky stuff are people into these days?”

Steve snickers and he’s pressed close enough that Tony can feel it. “Americans like their variety. Though, we don’t have t' do something so exotic. I’m pretty keen on the habanero batch, and the garlic-lemon-pepper. As well as the spicy-barbeque, and the sriracha.”

“Nice. Let’s get all of those. And maybe some of those maple-chipotle ones, the pineapple-teriyaki, and the honey-mustard-glazed ones too.”

“You don’t think that’s too much?” Steve asks as he closes the menu and sets it down to flip it over to the drinks section. “I mean I guess we could always box up what we don’t finish.”

Tony gives him a very pointedly amused grin. “Steve, considering how much I’ve seen you eat, I would be surprised if you were merciful enough to even leave enough _for_ leftovers.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. “Okay, fair. Also, I appreciate the way you just called me fat without actually saying it.”

“I’m good at word-spinning as long as I know my audience,” Tony teases. Then he says, “If you’re getting something to drink, I’ve always wanted to try a piña colada with actual alcohol in it.”

“Yeah, but, look at this. These come in a fish bowl. Why are they so intent on getting their customers wrecked? We are definitely splitting that,” Steve declares with an impressed frown as he studies the ‘not-actual-size’ picture. He looks up at the couple across from them. “We’re good to order if you wanna flag someone down.”

Riley nods, lifting his hand to gesture over a nearby server. He lets Sam order for the two of them, and Tony, likewise, lets Steve list off their order.

When the server leaves, promising to return with their drinks shortly, Sam claps his hands together and says, “So, Tony. Tell us more about you. I want to know everything.”

“I’m not that interesting,” Tony promises with a shy smile. “I put my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else.”

“I’m not buying it for one second, come on, tell me something good,” Sam urges with a friendly, gap-toothed grin. “Look. We can even do an ice breaker if that helps. Let’s see … oh, yeah, I got a good one. If you were a candy, what type of candy would you be and why? Everybody gotta answer this by the way. We gotta make it fair.”

Tony shrugs his mouth thoughtfully as he ponders the question. Then he answers, and he says that he would be a jawbreaker because he's just out here trying to do his best. He gets a few laughs for that and they go around the table so everyone can share their responses. On and on they take turns asking each other the most creative ice breaker questions they can think of between drinking and eating.

Every response to said questions often ends in hilarity, with only a few hiccups of sentimental seriousness sprinkled throughout.

Tony finds that he learns a lot more about Sam, Riley, and Steve, as well as himself this way. The most rewarding discovery of all is that he genuinely likes the married couple, and is pleased to note that they obviously like him as well.

Eventually, when they have had their fill of wings and frozen adult beverages, Sam decides that they are all just tipsy enough to start playing some games.

Tony is amused to find that Steve was right, Sam turns it into a competition. They start at the electronic basketball machines.

Steve confesses he can’t shoot for shit, and Tony shrugs while saying, “I’ll go against Sam for you. It’s just geometry, lamb.”

“Lamb? He calls you lamb? Oh my fucking heart,” Sam crows, looking ecstatic when Steve flushes a dark shade of red. “Babe, look. Look. I think I got diabetes. My sugars. My sugars are all over the place.”

“That’s not really how that works,” Riley laughs and shakes his head. “But it is cute. Is there a story behind the name?”

“Yeah, but it ain’t nothing for you t' worry about. No one but my husband is allowed t' get away with it,” Steve remarks dryly.

Tony means to laugh but he ends up feeling stupidly validated by the transparently defensive and possessive tone. “What he said,” he adds with a grin.

Sam snickers and lifts his hands in a show of surrender. “Aight, fine. Let’s do this then. Now watch out. I’m about to make some magic happen. I apologize in advance for the victory, Tony. But a player gotta do, what a player _gots_ to do, you know what I’m saying? Just call me Action Jackson.”

“I’d rather call your mother and break the news that her son just got bested,” Tony fires back with a smirk.

Sam laughs so hard at that, that he completely misses his first shot, and tanks his actual chance of winning.

They trash talk their way through about thirteen different games, collecting tickets here and there, and it’s honestly the most fun Tony has ever had doing the type of things his parents would probably visibly gag over. But Tony is not Howard, and he's not Maria. He savors it.

There’s a glow-in-the-dark air hockey game that Steve and Riley volunteer for as the last standoff.

“Just so you know, I was champion at this game back at my fraternity,” Riley says as he makes a show of pretending to stretch his arms, legs, and hips. “You can still back out now before I embarrass you in front of Tony.”

“Fat chance, pal,” Steve breezily replies, grinning when Tony claps in agreement. “Anyway, how long ago was it that you were in college? Fifty years? I'm bettin' you're pretty rusty.”

“Ouch. That’s cold.” Riley shakes out his hand like he’s been struck on it.

“Babe, don’t let him talk to you like that,” Sam fusses.

“I am nationally ranked!”

“Nationally ranked, Steve,” Sam repeats as he claps his hands along with the words.

Riley continues, “They called me lightning hands.”

“Lightning, Steve. Zap, zap. Zeus.”

“The air hockey gods have blessed me. My cup runneth over.”

“Runneth all the fucking way over, _Steve._ ”

Steve is literally in tears as he shakes his head while Tony laughs along with him at their obnoxiousness. He turns to Tony and says, “We’re dealing with Six-Drink-Wilsons right now. They always get so cocky about each other when they’re at this level.”

“And why shouldn’t we? Look at us. You can't tell us _shit_.” Sam gestures broadly between the two of them. “Babe, you hear this clown? This joker over there thinks this is a goddamn game.”

“Technically it is,” Steve points out as he indicates to the air hockey table.

“The disrespect.” Sam shakes his head before turning to his husband. “Baby, pop off your shirt. Show them the goods. Show them that we did not come to play.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, pop it off.”

“I mean … okay, I guess.” Riley pretends to start unbuttoning his shirt before he grins and starts pinching playfully at Sam’s ass.

Tony is snickering at the couple’s antics, thinking about how good they seem together.

Sam starts rubbing Riley’s shoulders encouragingly when they are done chasing each other in circles. “Don’t let him psych you out. You got this. We got this. Show them what the Wilson Family came to shut it down. Here, take this wet nap as a token of my favor.”

Riley laughs as he clutches the small, unopened packet to his chest. “I’ll treasure it forever,” he promises and kisses it before stuffing it in his back pocket.

Steve glances slyly at Tony. “You got anything for me?”

Tony raises a brow. “What, you need motivation or something?”

“It’d be kinda nice,” Steve supposes with a casual shrug but his grin remains.

Tony pretends to mull it over for a moment, half a liter of pina colada still swimming in his veins, encouraging him to be reckless. He leans forward to whisper, “If you win, I guess, you could …” and Tony is muttering things that he wants Steve to do with his tongue again, even though it makes his own face go red, but the words fall clumsily out of his mouth and he can't take them back once they are out there.

Steve straightens by the end of it and turns to Riley with pink cheeks. “Alright, let’s do this. Let’s go. Right now. Let’s do it. Put the coin in, Riley. I’m ready to go.”

Tony curls his hand into a fist and laughs behind it.

It’s neck and neck for a while, Sam and Tony cheering their husbands on in the background, trash talk and all, but Riley comes out the victor.

“I tried,” Steve sighs with a smile as they follow the boasting couple to the rewards stand so they can all redeem their tickets. “I really did. He’s good.”

“Guess you’ll just have to make do with the consolation prize,” Tony supposes and takes all their tickets from Steve to march over to the glass display case.

“And, ah, what would that be?” Steve asks when he finally catches up, the slightest wheeze in his voice.

“Hang on. Don’t be rude. This young gentleman and I were negotiating,” Tony teases and pretends to ignore Steve as he talks the teenager running the stand down to thirty tickets less for the purple monkey. “Here you go. This guy’s gonna keep you warm tonight.”

“Is this my consolation prize?” Steve asks flatly, but his eyes are glimmering in good humor as he takes the stuffed toy.

Tony makes a _pfft_ sound. “Steve, that’s for me. I was talking to myself. Feel how soft it is? I am going to spoon the shit out of it when we go to bed.”

“And what will I be spooning?” Steve asks as they hang off to the side to wait for Riley and Sam to wrap up their prize collecting.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve got you covered.”

Steve pretends to mull that over before he says, “So, should I tell Riley and Sam we’re heading out now or ... ?”

Tony snorts and swats gently at Steve’s shoulder. “Be patient.”

“Impossible.”

Tony rolls his eyes and is saved from responding when Sam and Riley approach them with their earnings. He smiles because the couple is wearing a matching pair of light-up, glittery purple shutter shades.

“Alright, crazy kids. I guess it’s time to talk about the serious stuff. Why don’t we go get a cone and take a walk along the Pier?” Sam suggests.

Steve looks to Tony, but Tony shrugs. So Steve grins and shrugs too.

“Aren't you two cute? I’m going to take that as a yes. Babe, call us an Uber,” Sam says and Riley nods. “Tony, you ever had a cone from Machiavelli’s?”

“Can’t say I have.”

Sam gasps dramatically and glares at Steve. “Damn, Steve. Why you neglecting your husband like that? Hey, I got you, Tony. You don’t even have to worry about it.”

Steve rolls his eyes and herds everyone out the building when Riley announces that their Uber is pulling up.

.

.

.

Machiavelli’s turns out to be this quaint little ice cream stand at Coney Island that’s been around for decades and is infamous for its soft serve.

Sam monopolizes their order when Tony makes it clear he doesn’t have any allergies. He purchases everyone three scoops on a waffle cone of non-dairy cookie butter ice cream.

Tony has never tasted anything so glorious, and he says as much as they take a lazy stroll down to the end of the Pier. He shares a nearby bench with Riley while Sam and Steve opt to continue to stand.

“Okay, so.” Riley turns to face Tony a bit more, after everyone has finished their cones. “I’ve been trying to think about the best way to spring this on you, but after Steve let me know what’s going on with you and your parents, I did a little digging. Now, I want you to know that any and all counsel that I advise is strictly with you and Steve’s best interest in mind. If you don’t agree with anything I’m saying, let me know.”

Tony nods slowly, doing his best not to squirm apprehensively.

Steve must sense it nonetheless because he shifts a bit closer so their knees can brush.

Tony should find it ridiculous that he finds that simple touch so reassuring but he's long accepted that Steve is his kryptonite. So he relaxes and gestures for Riley to continue.

“So, here’s the deal. It seems to me that your parents have every intention of annulling your marriage. They will most likely be issuing a lawsuit that would allow them to retain custody of you without paying out any damages to Steve. How they are going to do this is very simple, and I’m more than familiar with the process of how it usually goes. What that means is that they are going to try to issue a ‘formal notification’. Basically, they are probably going to try and ‘serve’ either you or Steve. That would give them the upper hand of picking and setting the court dates, and I guarantee that they will absolutely do it at the most inconvenient times, like during your Heat or Steve’s Rut.

“Essentially the reason for this is because the goal here is to aim for any time that will be the most inconvenient for you to appear in court, or at least up the chances of you not showing up at all. Now, with saying that, I think we can use this to our advantage by looking at the facts. Number one, your mother showed her hand when she told you of what her intentions were. Number two, she has information about where you live, and where Steve works. Number three, there was an intent to bribe or coerce a separation. And what that last one is going to tell a judge is that your parents are willing to put you in harm's way. That's not a good look for a custody battle like this. So what we need to do is take both of you out of the equation for the initial beginnings, fire back with a countersuit. The best way we can be sure of that is to send you as far away from the city as possible.

“It wouldn’t have to be for a long time. Just about, say, two weeks. Sam and I have been talking, and we want to offer you shelter at our vacation home in Virginia Beach. We’ll cover all expenses of flying you out, paying for a chauffeur, and making sure the kitchen is fully stocked. Steve, you’ve got that look on your face like you’re going to refuse, but I’m telling you in my _professional opinion_ that if you want to win this, I mean really win this, you have to follow my lead and trust me. If they get the jump on you two and serve either you or Tony, then it’s pretty much over with.

“Sam and I can afford to stow you away for a couple of weeks until my team and I can issue a formal suit to the in-laws. We absolutely need the edge, but we can’t get it if you both are around and easy to find or catch off guard. Keep in mind that Sam and I will be in D.C. so we aren’t going to be too far if you need anything. We’ll drive out on Sundays to see you and talk about the case in person, but I’ll definitely keep you updated outside of that via phone or email. What do you say?”

Steve looks to Tony and it’s enough to make Tony want to smile that Steve is seeking his opinion instead of just deciding then and there for the both of them. Which is why he asks, “When would we have to leave?”

“Don’t hate us,” Riley starts. “But tonight. We got a flight booked for midnight. Say the word and I’ll confirm them.”

“That’s really short notice,” Steve comments thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Riley agrees. “But this way you can make a clean exit without the in-laws being any wiser to it.”

A yawning silence stretches around them.

“It’s a good plan,” Tony finally says after a while, looking up at Steve. “I think we should do it.”

“Yeah?” Steve still looks a little unsure.

Sam adds, “Yeah, man. Think of it as a surprise honeymoon.”

Tony brushes his knee against Steve’s, and that seems to be all the encouragement he needs to say, “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

.

.

.

Tony and Steve have to run around their cozy studio apartment like headless chickens that night, packing this and that while Steve sends the necessary emails and fill out the necessary attendance forms for his job to make good on all his vacation time. Likewise, Tony has to break the news to Happy in the same manner, since Monday was supposed to be his first day.

Tony uses the time Steve is away in the bathroom gathering their things to dissemble his coffee pot so he can store the plasma gun in the backend of it. He decides to stash it in one of the bags he plans on checking because there’s no way he can get away with storing it in his carry-on. He still hasn’t brought it up to Steve, he means to, eventually, but for now, he wants to keep it close and he wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving such a weapon behind. He also decides to take Drew, all the projects he’s currently working on, and both of their laptops so FRIDAY isn’t left behind either. He takes the time to explain to her what's going on before he stashes her away in one of their carry-ons.

Steve double checks everything and is satisfied, but he’s deeply amused when Tony asks about his inhalers at least five seperate times. Which isn’t a big deal, okay? He just wants to be sure that Steve has what he needs in case of emergencies. If he never sees the color blue or purple on Steve again, it'd still be too soon.

After that little dance, they lock everything up, exit the building and climb into the luxury Uber paid for by Riley and Sam to make their way to the airport. The couple explained that they wouldn't be joining them on the flight because they wanted to stay behind to visit Peggy and Sharon, as well as Sam's side of the family while they were out this way.

With it being so late, the streets are pretty clear, much to their favor, since they only had about an hour and a half to get to the airport.

Tony finds it interesting the way Steve becomes moody when they hit the terminal, not so much to him but to everyone around them. Steve is short with the employees checking them in, but not rude per se. It’s the same deal with security. His side of the bond stays swimming in ashy yellows and writhes in agitation.

Tony thinks at first that it’s because they have to travel while Steve is starting his Rut but then he realizes while Steve is pacing when they are waiting to board that the Alpha is just a nervous flyer. “Hey, Oscar the Grouch,” he says from where he’s sitting next to the wide windows with the view of their plane. “Come here and sit with me for a minute.”

“Don’t really feel like sitting,” Steve says gruffly and continues to pace. He checks his watch about a dozen times. “Shouldn’t they be calling us by now? They’re cutting it close.”

Tony smiles softly. “We have about fifteen minutes before they need to do anything like that. Come sit next to me for a minute. I want to talk to you about something,” he urges.

Steve sighs but grudgingly marches over to sit beside him.

“There. Now was that so bad?”

“I’m about to get up again.”

Tony laughs. “I’m kidding! Lighten up, sour patch. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

Steve glances his way for a split second and then away to ‘people watch’. “I’m the worst person to fly with, I should’ve said. I really don’t enjoy it. I’ve only been wheels up maybe twice before.”

“But it’ll be alright,” Tony assures as he shifts in his seat so he can face Steve more directly. And also so their knees can brush. He likes it when their knees brush. It's his new favorite thing. "Take off is the hardest part."

Steve scoffs and he's like an adorable brat the way he does it. “Yeah, and I’m sure that the statistics show that I’m more likely to die on the way to the airport than in an actual plane crash, right?”

“Wow, you are so feisty,” Tony laughs but Steve is in no way amused. “I don’t care about statistics, and I don’t quote stuff like that as all the riff-raff does. Makes no sense to remind you of all the ways you can die to get you to calm down. But I’m positive we’ll be fine because _I’ll_ be on that plane, Steve. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll fix it.”

Steve finally looks his way and he has this unreadable expression that Tony has a hard time placing. “Yeah,” he says after a while, and he _finally_ grins. Well, it's more of a small, weak little thing but it's there and Tony will still gladly take it. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“No guessing about it. I’m a mechanic, I can fix just about anything,” Tony boasts just to get Steve to chuckle, and he finds that he smiles easily in return. “How are we feeling now, grumpy?”

Steve huffs and rubs tiredly at his face. “Better.” He sighs and drops his hands. “Sorry.”

“Eh, you’re fine. It’s not like I think you're perfect or anything,” Tony manages to say with a straight face because that’s exactly how he thinks of Steve but the Alpha needn’t really know that. “You’re human underneath it all I’m sure. You’d probably do the same for me if the occasion called for it.”

“I would, ain't no probably about it,” Steve confirms without hesitation as his side of the bond begins to bleed into pinks and reds with only a smidge of yellow. “You watched _Sesame Street?_ ”

Tony blinks. “Pardon? That came out of nowhere.”

“It didn’t. You called me ‘Oscar the Grouch’ just a minute ago.”

“Oh. Oh, _that_.” Tony laughs a little. “Yeah, when I was a kid, Jarvis used to let me sneak and watch it in his room. That and the _Powerpuff Girls_. And occasionally _Spongebob_ or _That’s So Raven_ if there was enough time.”

“I was a more _Garfield and Friends_ type of kid but I watched _Sesame Street_ off and on, though I think I preferred _Between the Lions_.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that show.” Tony smiles a bit nostalgically. “Yeah, I can definitely still remember the lyrics.”

Steve gives him a serious and flat look as he says, “Prove it.”

Tony does. He laughs the whole time, but he does it.

Steve fishes a pen out of his pocket, scribbles something on his palm and then holds it up for Tony to see.

It literally says: _10/10 - would recommend to family and friends_.

Tony nearly kisses him for it. He doesn’t but he wants to. He hasn't gotten bold enough to do such a thing in public but he's working his way up to it.

The flight attendants begin utilizing the intercoms to start calling the groups to board and thankfully, Tony and Steve are among the first group. Which isn’t too surprising since Riley and Sam bought them first-class tickets.

Tony is used to the luxury of it but Steve isn’t and he says as much as they board, and hand their bags over to the attendants so they can be stored for them. He makes Steve take the window seat and encourages him to pay attention to how New York looks from above at night.

“Maybe it’s something you’ll be inspired to draw one day,” he adds.

Steve sends him a look that says he knows what Tony is trying to do but Tony grins through it and Steve rolls his eyes with his own grin and doesn’t comment.

They end up holding hands during the take off because Steve can’t seem to sit still long enough to get through it on his own. Oh, but Steve is distracted when the plane makes a wide arc and turns about the city, his gaze fixed on the way New York looks like a lit motherboard.

When it seems like his Alpha might get anxious again once they are up in the clouds, Tony orders them a flute of some complimentary champagne and selects _Tangled_ as their in-flight movie. That seems to keep Steve as settled as he can get until they land, which happens an hour and forty-five minutes later.

Tony takes the lead by walking them over to the baggage claim area to get their bags.

On their way out, there is a Beta woman of Hispanic descent waiting for them with a sign that reads ‘ **ROGERS FAMILY** ’. She’s dressed in a pristine blue/white pinstripe suit that shows off her robust curves. She has long but shiny, dark hair and a charming beauty mark just above her lip. What stood out the most to Tony was that, well … she had very kind brown eyes. Safe eyes - perhaps that's the best way to say it.

“Hi, I think you mean us?” Steve says, shaking her hand.

“Are you Steve and Tony?” she asks with a pleasant accent and then she smiles when they nod. “I definitely mean you then. My name is Yenny. I’m the caretaker of the Wilson Estate. Riley explained you would be visiting for two weeks and thought I should be your point of contact while you do. I’ll be in charge of all lodging needs. How was your flight?”

“No troubles,” Tony supposes and Steve smiles wryly at that.

“I’ll take it,” Yenny says with a smile. “I have the car waiting if you’re ready to go?”

Tony and Steve nod simultaneously and follow her out. She has the chauffeur help them with their luggage as she texts away on her phone with absentminded confidence before sliding into the passenger side. Steve and Tony sit in the back and Yenny signals for the driver to move on.

The drive is pretty long and quiet, and it’s enough to make Tony feel drowsy since there’s not much to distract him or keep him motivated to stay awake. Luckily they reach their destination before Tony can get the chance to doze off on Steve’s shoulder.

Sam and Riley’s beach house, or mansion actually would be a better description, is pretty huge and only slightly smaller than what Tony is used to. It makes him curious about Riley’s background because it hadn’t escaped his notice that the Beta carried himself in the same way Tony knows he must do from time to time. The same kind of mannerisms a person would have if they were born into wealth and privilege, familiar with the many nuances and subtleties of high society.

Yenny gives them a tour of the mansion while the live-in staff sees to getting their bags put away for them.

Steve seems a bit overwhelmed by the attention and the luxury, but no less curious or awed.

It makes Tony smile as he watches him while Yenny walks them through the property. He doesn’t pay too close attention to what she says because well, this lifestyle he knows in and out. But he does give her his ear when she shows them out the back door and down the wooden walkway leading to the steps that end at the beginning of the beach and the oceanfront.  

“Privacy is a given,” Yenny goes on to say as they stand on the beach. She indicates to the other properties spaced out around them. “Though, I’ll warn you that everyone knows everyone over here. So don’t be surprised if the people in town start asking after you, or if you get invited over for dinner parties or luncheons or afternoon tea. I’m really familiar with everyone myself, so if you want some good gossip, I’m your woman.”

“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind,” Steve replies with an amused grin. “Do you live on the grounds?”

“Me, no. I’m actually from Philly. I travel for work. Riley’s family has property all over the country and I mostly have to make sure everything is up to code and still in liveable conditions. I basically live out of my phone,” Yenny explains, holding up said device and wagging it. “Still, if you need anything, you can contact me. I’ll leave my number on the fridge, and make whatever arrangements you need to request. The staff is there too, and they’ve been briefed, so they’ll see to all the cooking and the cleaning.”

“Thank you.” Steve shakes her hand.

Tony follows suit shortly after and then Yenny leaves them to it with another friendly smile.

“I’m beat,” Steve admits after a while as he gazes out into the ocean and at the sun, which is slowly but surely creeping over the horizon, painting veils of orange across a dark blue sky.

Tony thinks he looks beautiful. “Yeah, I could sleep,” he murmurs as he watches him. Then he’s hit with a sudden, annoying thought. “So there’s a lot of space here.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, gaze still out on the ocean.

“Lot of rooms,” Tony presses to see if Steve will get the hint. He sighs and just comes out with it, “We wouldn’t have to share the same bed anymore.”

Wow, yeah, Steve definitely looks at him then. “Okay … are you trying to tell me that you plan on being elsewhere? Staying in a different room?”

Tony fidgets. “I'm trying to tell you that I could be. If that’s what you wanted.” He shrugs and avoids his gaze. “I’ve been in your back pocket for a while now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted … space.”

“Tony, trust me when I say that ain't it at all for me,” Steve replies firmly. “I’ve told you, you’re not a burden. My bed is just a boring mattress without you on it with me.”

Tony doesn’t say anything but he does look at Steve. He looks at Steve for so long that he starts thinking about Steve’s dick and how much he wants to put his weight on it, slowly, reverently.

Steve smiles, and it’s one of those dangerous ones that gives Tony butterflies. “You have to tell me what you’re thinking because the bond is doing the same thing it did the other night when I went down on you.”

Tony goes red. “I’m just tired,” he lies.

“Tired, huh?” Steve shifts closer but he keeps a bit of distance between them. “You still haven’t given me my consolation prize.”

Tony swallows dryly. “You still remember that?”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Tony stares at him a long time before he says, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes and no,” Steve merely says and doesn’t elaborate. “You ready to go to bed, honey?”

Oh god, Tony is getting a little wet just thinking about it. “Yes, I - I would very much like for us to go to bed now.”

“After you.” Steve gestures to the stairs leading back up to the mansion, and he makes no move to touch Tony as they make the trek back.

It kind of drives Tony a little crazy since Steve has him spoiled over how tactile the Alpha can be at times. He bites and worries his bottom lip while they search through a few rooms to figure out which one has all their things in it.

Turns out that would be the fourth bedroom on the third floor, the one with windows facing the beach, and a small balcony on the other side of some sliding doors.

Tony doesn’t waste any time turning to Steve to say, “I’m going to let you be my hands tonight.”

Steve has this expression on his face like he’s trying to reboot or something and it’s all Tony can do to keep from either laughing or kissing him within an inch of his life. “That’s … that’s some consolation prize,” he says, sounding strained.

“Thought it might be,” Tony replies with a grin because he’s not blind to the fact that Steve has this thing for his hands. He’ll have to get around to asking Steve about that, but for now, there’s no reason why they both can’t have fun with it. “I don’t mind being pampered, so it works in my favor too. Figured it would be right up your alley since you always seem so intent on spoiling me. So." He spreads his arms and says, "Where would you like to start?”


	10. YEAR 1: PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - as promised, and i went a little experimental with this one
> 
> hey ya'll, just so it's out there, I'm going on vacay, so the next update won't happen until the week of June 16th
> 
> next chapter will be Tony's POV and we're going to have to dive into some plot points

When Tony says, “I’m going to let you be my hands tonight.”

Here’s exactly what goes through Steve’s mind:

He loves Tony. He loves Tony with the same kind of fierce stubborn brightness that the stars have in the sky as they rest in the inky blackness of space like the embers of a fire. He loves Tony in a way that nearly aches and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop falling in love.

It happens every day, every moment, every hour, every second.

Every part of him just wants every part of Tony. He loves Tony’s brain, his eyes, his hands … god, those hands that are capable of building _kingdoms_ if he wanted. Steve doesn’t think Tony realizes just how incredible a gift he has for invention but Steve has no problem being his number one cheerleader.

Because, likewise, Tony has this way of looking at him with such reverence until Steve has no choice but to feel invincible. He loves that too. Tony will look at him like he’s not just some tiny excuse for an Alpha. He looks at Steve with such transparent respect and trust that it makes Steve want to fall to his knees and give Tony the entire universe.

He’s going to marry Tony again, he decides as he drinks in the sight of Tony spreading his arms, offering himself to Steve without hesitation. Yes, he is going to absolutely propose the right way someday. They are going to have a real wedding with Sam, Bucky, and his Ma there, Sharon as the flower girl, Jarvis will give Tony away and Peggy will make them a beautiful cake that will bring tears to Tony’s eyes. And then Steve will take him to an island and spend every night of their honeymoon making his husband cry in different ways that they will both enjoy.

They will remarry and Steve is going to buy Tony flowers every week for the rest of their lives. They will dance and grow old together. They will have children and, it frightens him to even think of it, but he thinks he wants to be the one to give them to Tony … Christ, he wants Tony to have his _kids_. Tony makes him want to take a chance.

“Steve? You still there?”

Steve blinks and snaps out of his thoughts, flushing slightly at the amused face he’s greeted with. “Sorry. Just thinking,” he explains, and that’s truer than Tony knows. “I think we should put our things away.”

Tony frowns in confusion and it’s all Steve can do to keep from closing the distance between them just so he can lick his way into Tony’s mouth. “You want to … put away our clothes?”

“Yes,” Steve says simply and doesn’t elaborate.

"Huh." Tony gets thoughtfully silent, looking at Steve in that way he does when he's trying to puzzle out the Alpha's behavior.

Steve refrains from grinning when Tony’s side of the bond blooms with marigold and writhes with confused annoyance. But little does Tony know, Steve is planning to take him down tonight and rearrange his mind. But he has this thing about momentum and anticipation. He likes to drag things out, likes to savor it, likes putting Tony in situations where he’s so overwhelmed he forgets about manners and modesty.

Tony thinks far too much and mentally talks himself out of his own desires. So it’s Steve job to take that beautiful brain to heights it’s never traveled and suspend Tony in a place where he listens to his body more than his formal upbringing.

Steve clears his throat as he tries not to think about the perfect thickness of Tony’s thighs and sabotage himself. He says, “Yes, so, ah, where would you usually start when you unpack?”

“I … uh, I guess I would start with toiletries,” Tony responds, brow still furrowed with perplexed disappointment.

“Show me,” Steve says, and keeps his voice steady when he adds, “No hands. That’s for me. Go on.”

Tony swallows and he flushes when he seems to realize or at least catch on to what Steve is doing. “God, you are going to drive me crazy, aren’t you? This is just like the thing with the sandwiches and my fingers.”

Steve grins darkly when he thinks about it. “Concentrate, Tony. I asked you to do something,” he maintains. “If you behave, I’ll give you points. And if you get enough points, I’ll give you something really nice. What do you think? Does that sound like something you want?"

Tony’s reacts very favorably, biting his bottom lip as he gets wet, a blotchy pink hue riding high on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Yes, Alpha,” is his breathless reply.

“Good, that’s one point right there. You’re doing perfect, I knew you would,” Steve responds in kind, feeling lightheaded himself as the scent of Tony’s slick slams into his senses in a sudden spike that wafts the air with flowery pheromones. “Ah, you like being good. That’s really sweet. You’re always good, honey, don’t worry.”

Tony whimpers, his fingers twitching from where they are resting at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to reach out to touch either Steve or himself. He doesn’t do either.

“Two points. I saw that.”

Tony gives him a dazed grin. “Nosy,” he teases like a brat and it only makes Steve want to take him apart even more. "You pay attention to detail, I'm starting to notice."

“Possibly but maybe it’s just you I’m really all that curious about to want to do that sorta thing. I like watching you, you’re an interesting person.” Steve likes the way Tony’s blush deepens. “Now, let’s go back to getting you unpacked and settled in.”

Tony nods and takes him to one of his duffle bags. There’s a moment where he’s about to pick it up but he jerks back at the last second, jutting his chin towards it.

“Three points. You remembered. Good.” Steve drops to one knee to unzip the duffle bag to unearth Tony’s personal care items. “Wait for a moment, I’ll put these away.”

Tony nods and crosses one arm over his body to grasp the opposite shoulder.

Steve takes his time in the bathroom, exaggerating every sound for Tony’s benefit, so he can be completely aware of where Steve is at all times.

Tony hasn’t moved from his spot when Steve returns.

“Six points. You earned three more for holding that position. You can move now. Let’s get your clothes put away. Where would you start first?”

Tony’s face slowly begins to fill with color as his side of the bond explodes with rich fuchsias, as it does when he is particularly embarrassed. He mumbles something.

Steve grins. “I didn’t catch that. Repeat it for me?”

Tony gives him a mutinous stare that sets his blood on fire and makes something deep down, something predatory, cock its head. “I _said_ … that I put away my socks.”

“Your socks,” Steve repeats neutrally and Tony blush remains but he nods. He knows there’s more here that Tony isn’t saying but he isn’t going to push. “So where are they?”

Tony tongues at his bottom lip for a moment before he points to the next duffle bag. Then he crosses his arms and shifts on his feet, fidgeting as his side of the bond simmers in darker hues of fuchsia.

Steve only understands a moment later when he unzips the bag and finds not only socks but a stack of carefully sealed Spider-Man comics that look to be very well looked after. Actually, they seem to be in mint condition and that’s when it clicks why Tony had been embarrassed.

“You can laugh,” Tony grumbles and it looks less and less like his arms are crossed but more so that he’s hugging himself protectively. “I know it’s dumb and childish.”

“No,” Steve says and Tony still looks at him guardedly. “I don’t think that. I still collect baseball cards. You think I’m gonna judge you for _this?_ Kinda hypocritical.”

Tony fidgets but he’s also trying to wrestle down an answering smile. “You collect baseball cards?” he asks.

“Yeah. I mean I didn’t think t' bring 'em with me, but I’d be happy t' show you when we go home. Got a whole scrapbook and everything. Any particular reason you have these?”

“I …” Tony fidgets again but then seems to steel himself. “I like to read them when I’m in a creative slump. Sometimes it’s like … there are these moments where I’m so focused and lost in the rhythm of a project that I kinda visualize what I want, and then the thought of it, the thought of what it would take to get there, becomes overwhelming and it gives me anxiety since the process seems to stretch out into forever in my mind. Then I can kinda feel myself shutting down, or at least my cognitive thinking does. There were … Howard used to assign my projects to me. He never let me pick what I wanted to do, just foisted different weapon schematics on me. Worse part about it all was that he wouldn’t explain exactly what he wanted from me but he made it clear that he expected a lot, and he would give me these unreasonable deadlines too. It was like a vice around my throat sometimes. Some days I’d lock myself in my workshop, trying to please him, trying to prove myself, all the while feeling like I was choking … but those comics, they’d help. They’d take me out of my own head for a while, out of the Tower, even when I wasn't really allowed to leave.”

Steve tries to be a man of peace. He knows that not everything can be solved with violence. But Tony will tell him these things about his past that makes him see red, and he knows that if the opportunity ever arose he wouldn’t think twice about socking Howard in the jaw or spitting in Maria's face. He swallows dryly, but it doesn’t make the itch of anger go away.

Steve sighs. “I know that wasn’t easy to talk about. I appreciate you sharing it. I think you're brave, Tony. After everything you’ve been through, you still have this resilience that’s amazing. Draws people to you. Though I don’t think you really notice, but you have a … there’s a type of charisma that’s unique to you. I don’t think you should ever have to be ashamed about who you are.”

Tony eyes are shining wetly and he’s exhaling shakily. “Please can you … can I be excused?”

“You can cry in front of me,” Steve encourages.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head fervently. “I _can’t_ ,” he says hoarsely. “You know I can’t.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Steve insists but makes no move to get any closer. He doesn’t want to spook Tony into fleeing to the bathroom. It’s a wonder that Tony is even entertaining this conversation as they speak but Steve’s not going to take this chance for granted. He continues, “It’s just you and me. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“What would you know about it?” Tony says, a bit snappishly, and his eyes water a little further but it’s obvious he’s fighting it because not once do they spill over. “The last time I cried, I suffered a broken jaw for it. I was _eight_.”

Steve makes a wounded sound and feels his own eyes grow hot. “Oh, Tony … you have to know that I would never do that to you.”

“I do know. I _do_ … but.” Tony inhales shakily and his side of the bond is writhing in navy blues and thunderous greys. “I don’t know how to do this in front of someone else without being scared or feeling ashamed.”

“I would never hurt you,” Steve promises quietly. “And I would never judge you for crying. Do you know why?”

Tony shakes his head wordlessly as his bottom lip trembles.

“Your tears are precious to me. They’re gold, Tony. And I’d collect every single drop if I could. I’d keep them safe. I’d mix them with colors and make paintings of your smile. I’d _treasure_ them.”

Tony lets out a low sob and turns away, his shoulders shake with trying to keep it in. His hands are twitching at his side.

Steve's hearts squeezes and he walks over, shushing Tony when he makes a disgruntled sound, trying to turn away again and hide his wet face, but Steve just hugs him close. “Use my shoulder,” he murmurs gently. “If you don’t want me to see … if you can’t use your hands to wipe them away … use my shoulder. I won’t melt.”

“I’m not going to cry that much,” Tony fusses with a nasally voice, but he ducks his head low to hide his face in Steve’s shoulder. He’s clutching the back of Steve’s shirt desperately and he bites off quiet sobs. “Would you - would you really -” He cuts himself off with another sharp sob.

Steve understands well enough what Tony is trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. “Yes,” he swears. “Yes.”

Tony sniffles and goes quiet for a moment, just hiccuping against Steve’s shoulder. Then he pulls away slowly to show Steve his face.

And Steve … it’s almost like his heart stops, like there are full-fledged bats flapping around in his gut, like there’s no concept of time when he's caught in the thrall of Tony's vulnerable beauty. A flare of heat races through his body and his heart picks up double time as Tony stares at him with a red nose, mouth trembling ever so softly, and wet doe eyes.

Steve shudders against the strongest wave of desire that hits him and kisses Tony as tenderly as he can until Tony makes a surprised but needy sound as his bottom lip trembles all the more, this time with desire instead of sorrow, and he kisses Steve back. He sighs and seems to melt when Steve pulls away slightly to stamp butterfly soft kisses all over his wet cheeks while he frames Tony’s reddening face between his hands.

“I need a tissue,” Tony mumbles as Steve continues to switch back and forth between kissing his damp lashes. He squirms with an exasperated grin. “ _Steve._ Come on. Your lips can only do so much.”

Steve continues for another thirty seconds before he pulls back so Tony can safely open his eyes again. They are puffy and red but Tony still has never looked more beautiful; he's an absolute vision. He says as much aloud because there isn’t really a reason why he shouldn’t.

Tony squirms away shyly, blushing furiously. “Tissue, Steve,” he insists, not even addressing the compliment.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses. Let me enjoy this for five seconds more ... and okay. That's been mentally saved later for reference.” Steve ducks back with a laugh when Tony tries to swat at him. He wanders into the bathroom and grabs the box of Kleenex sitting idle on the counter of the double sink. He returns with them and offers it up, just to see what Tony will do.

Tony instinctively reaches out before he yanks his hand back with wide eyes. He blinks through the moment before he puffs up with annoyance, glaring at Steve. “You - I almost!”

Steve laughs and lowers the box. “You’re right, that was mean. But you did really good, honey. You’re up to fifty points.”

“And how many would I lose if I hit you in the head with a pillow? Because I gotta say, I’m really thinking about it.”

Steve laughs explosively at that, even under Tony’s withering glare, but he doesn’t shift away when Steve walks over to gently wipe his face dry. “Think I would give you that one for free,” he replies slyly.

Tony huffs and grudgingly smiles. “I’ll keep it in mind then. Save it for something that really counts.”

“Smart,” Steve teases before he trashes the used kleenex and sets the box on the dresser. Then he gets to work with putting Tony’s socks and underwear away. He stashes Tony’s comics with them.

Tony gives an approving nod at that before he points to his last duffle bag. “I like to hang up my day clothes and I fold away the sleepwear or my lounging clothes.”

“Understood.” Steve travels in and out of their walk-in closet, Tony tailing him each time, and he neatly organizes the Omega’s clothes by color.

Tony finds it endlessly amusing but he never comments on it. He just lets his side of the bond marinate in medium shades of purple. He also seems calmer, slipping into a more quiet headspace while he verbally guides Steve through putting away all his things until there is nothing left but his carry-on and the duffle bag holding his projects.

“Actually, uh, do you mind if we leave that for me to take care of tomorrow?” Tony asks nervously, gaze darting restlessly where Steve’s hands are hovering over the zippers of them.

“That’s fine,” Steve assures, figuring Tony is probably worried he might break something by accident or maybe it’s because he’s so protective. He thinks about Obadiah and he backs up further. “If that’s what you want. I’ll leave it to you.”

Tony visibly relaxes and he gives this guilty smile that Steve doesn’t quite understand. And before he can ask, Tony is saying, “Cool, that means I’m all good. So what’s next?”

Steve presses away his concerns as he straightens with a half-grin. He watches Tony very closely as he responds, “I was thinking I’d put my things away.”

Tony’s brow furrows and his mouth wiggles with impatience. “Sure,” he says shortly, though it’s obvious he wants to say more.

“Sure,” Steve echoes as his grin widens into something more playful. “Why don’t you just follow me where I go? As long as we don’t get too chatty, I should finish in no time at all.”

“Are you asking me not to distract you with conversation?” Tony huffs and his mouth curls in amusement. “Yeah, okay. I can be quiet. But I want thirty points for doing it.”

“Ah, so we’re negotiating now?” Steve remarks and there’s transparent humor in his tone. “Fine then. I’ll add an extra twenty if you wanna tell me what it is exactly you were thinking about when we were on the beach.”

“Look who’s negotiating now,” Tony crows with an indignant laugh, cheeks filling with a vibrant red that Steve thinks makes him look princely. “I have to say, you really are making me curious about what happens when I make it to a hundred. But, okay. I’m playing to win here.” He clears his throat and continues, “I was only thinking how much I wanted to sit on you … in the biblical sense.”

Steve can feel his face go prickly with warmth as his gut tightens with arousal because there's a thought he wouldn’t mind following up on. Later. He has to get Tony in the right headspace for it. “Still have to earn the other thirty,” he reminds. “But thank you for that. Seventy points.”

Tony mimes zipping his lips with a bratty grin but the tips of his ears are still red.

Steve concentrates on taking care of putting his things away, and Tony trails after him silently, raising his eyebrows with an innocent face every time Steve happens to glance back at him. His brown eyes are glimmering with good humor and cheer that’s infectious. He finds himself smiling more than twice at Tony’s indulgent face, which only makes Tony’s eyes darken coyly while he maintains a straight face.

Steve likes that Tony is having fun with it, that he’s enjoying himself and not hiding it from Steve.

They orbit around each other like solitary planets, unable to resist the gravitational pull between them. It’s comforting, the way they can do nothing but the ordinary and find intimacy in it somehow. The bond blooms with a kaleidoscope of colors between them.

Tony doesn’t even blink when Steve, after putting the last of his things away, turns to him to say, “I’m going to brush my teeth. Then I’m going to brush yours. If you’re up for it, I’d like for us to end the night with a bath. You can talk now.”

Tony takes a moment to inhale. There’s a different kind of blush spreading across his face that Steve’s never seen before. It kind of makes Steve want to work him open with his tongue all night long. “You know, it’s strange,” he starts, and his voice is breathless and tight in a way that has Steve fantasizing about how Tony would sound with his thighs bracketing Steve's hips as he takes him in deep. “I had a dream that was kind of like this.”

“Yeah?” Steve is interested in knowing what goes on in Tony’s head when he’s asleep. His side of the bond is always like a glimmering light show when he dreams. That, like the rest of Tony, is always a sight to behold. “You dream about us taking baths together?”

Tony’s flush deepens but he rolls his eyes like a brat. “No. I dream about watching _you_ take a bath. Only there’s more … more bubbles and champagne and chocolate covered strawberries involved.”

Steve considers that and says, “Okay. I can work it in. Maybe not quite that way, me doing it solo, I mean. Not this time. We’ll save that for another night. For now, I want you in there with me.”

“Yes, that’s - not gonna complain,” Tony stammers, blinking at him like he’s not even sure if Steve is real. Then his eyes get coy as his side of the bond unfolds with different shades of purple. “You’ll have to put on my face mask for me.”

Steve makes a face, he’s not even sure what kind, but it has Tony suddenly choking on some delighted laughter. He feels his own lips twitching in response but he sighs and says, “Yeah, should’ve seen that coming. C’mere, honey. Gotta come closer where I can reach.”

Tony’s breath hitches as he walks over with a near drowsy pace, biting on his bottom lip in a way that makes Steve envious.

“You’re doing so good, honey.” Steve’s nose flares when the scent of flowery slick begins filling the air. It sets his teeth on edge and makes him yearn in such a way that has him feeling like anything he’s experienced before was nothing in comparison to what he feels when Tony is involved. “I’m gonna - I’m gonna do my teeth first, okay? Then yours.” He can barely think straight.

Tony’s wanton gaze burns into the back of his head and shivers through him.

Steve concentrates on brushing his teeth to calm down. It takes him ten minutes and by the end of it his gums are a bit sore and Tony’s gaze has turned into something more like heated amusement which makes Steve’s cheeks burn.

Tony makes things no better when he watches Steve through half lids with a lazy grin while the Alpha brushes his teeth, jaw slack in Steve's careful grip.

Steve gets so distracted that he ends up doing _that_ for ten minutes.

And Tony doesn’t say a word, even though Steve keeps encouraging him to talk. He just grins and nods to show that he understands that perfectly but still doesn’t say a word. It’s driving Steve a little crazy. He thinks about how quickly he’s come to miss the sound of Tony’s voice as he helps the Omega rinse and spit.

After that’s sorted, Tony wastes no time sitting on the toilet lid, raising an eyebrow expectantly, and his whiskey brown eyes are bright and playful.

“I think you’re having more fun than me,” Steve remarks with a half-grin, twisting the top off of Tony’s red clay mask jar after he fetches it.

Tony merely shrugs and grins but doesn’t respond.

Steve huffs. He takes a moment to take in the details of Tony’s face. He’s more than familiar with the slope of his nose, the swell of his bottom lip, the pretty arch of his chin, and those brown eyes. He says, maybe a little bit absentmindedly, “Let’s see if I can remember what you taught me.”

Tony raises a brow again as if to say, ‘Yeah, why don’t we see about that?’

“Nose first,” Steve recites and spreads the slightly chilly red clay along with his words. “Up to the forehead.”

Tony grins proudly and gestures for him to keep going.

Steve returns the grin with his own. “Then move clockwise to spread and distribute evenly to the rest of the face.”

Tony sits completely still the whole time and stops grinning long enough for Steve to wrap things up. He darts to the mirror as soon as Steve takes a step back to let him up. He starts laughing and shaking his head.

Steve wanders over so he can use the mirror to make a mask for himself as he says, “So? How did I do?”

Tony is still laughing but he wobbles his hand back and forth in a ‘so-so’ gesture while he snickers.

“So now the student has become the teacher,” Steve reasons pleasantly.

Tony snorts. “You wish,” he says, finally speaking.

Steve knows he’s doing an even worse job of his mask by smiling like a total goof but he can’t find the will to care. The sound of Tony’s voice shoves him right into a good mood, it’s kind of ridiculous yet unsurprising. To Steve, Tony is a lighthouse, always navigating him through the choppy waters of life.

“Bath now?” Tony asks and it’s cute the way he tries to conceal how eager he is.

Steve won't tease him for it. He’s pretty eager himself. “I’m giving you your hands back. I saw a shelf full of bath bombs and essential oils. Think you’re up t' helping me turn that jacuzzi tub into a science experiment?”

“Ouch, lamb. Save the dirty talk for the bedroom,” Tony jokes as he makes a beeline for the aforementioned shelf.

Steve laughs. “Sure, honey. If that’s what it takes to get you there.” He wanders around the jacuzzi tub, trying to puzzle out how exactly the temperature dials work. It takes a few tries but he figures it out, holding his hand under the removable faucet to gauge the perfect temperature. “Come feel this and tell me if it works for you.”

Tony wanders over with an armful of different sized bottles and a colorful array of bath bombs. He puts it down on the thick ledge that leads to the steps. Then he’s leaning over to brush his fingers against Steve’s in a way that’s hard to tell whether or not he’s done it on purpose.

Steve clears his throat as his fingers twitch against Tony’s. “Good?” he asks, aware his voice is starting to slip down a few octaves.

Tony cocks his head and gives him a slanted-eye gaze that sets Steve’s blood on fire. “Can you give me … I want it hotter.”

Steve fumbles in his haste to manipulate the temperature dials. “How’s that?” he asks.

“Exactly what I want. Thank you.” Tony glides away like he’s walking on air and begins to undress.

Steve feels captured, like he’s caught in Tony’s thrall, uncertain if he has enough willpower to break loose. But would he want to? He doesn’t think so. Christ, Tony is peeling off each layer of clothing like he’s not even concerned about Steve’s presence, like he’s allowing Steve to spectate, gifting him with a private show he hadn’t even asked for.

“Steve,” Tony says as he works on his pants.

“Yeah, honey?”

“You should really put the bombs and the oils in before the tub gets too full for it,” Tony reminds him.

“Ah, right.” Steve blushes as he moves to do just that under Tony’s heavily amused gaze. He tosses it all in without any real finesse, but it bubbles up, fizzles, and becomes a mix of colors, like a Van Gogh's _Starry Night_.

“Wow,” Tony says as he walks over to see when Steve gestures for him to do so. “That’s … well, that came out better than I expected. I mean, I thought it might go that way, the statistics were on my side, but that’s the thing with experiments, they can go either way.”

“You wanted it to turn out like that?” Steve blinks when Tony nods with a grin. “You realize what it looks like?”

“Yeah. I mean, chemicals aren’t too complicated. That’s your favorite painting, right? You mentioned it when we were doing those ice breakers with Sam and Riley. I figured you’d appreciate if … or is it - do you not like it?”

“Let me show you how much I like it,” Steve simply says and marches over, folding Tony in his arms and kisses him hard, sloppily but extensively, until they both see stars.

“Steve,” Tony gasps, pulling back. “The - the tub.”

Steve curses and darts over to shut the water off before it gets too high. There’s a thick film of suds and bubbles spread over the waters like a lumpy, fluffy white blanket. “You can go ahead and climb in,” he says, holding out a hand.

Tony shoots him a fond look as he grabs that hand and lets Steve help him climb in carefully. He ducks down quickly, submerging completely before standing again, thick tendrils of water rolling and curling around his shoulders and his chest. He’s using both hands to comb his hair away from his face.

Steve knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. His fingers itch with the desire to draw Tony just as he is right then and there, looking like a mesmerizing Selkie.

“Hey, Rogers. You gonna stare or are you gonna join your husband?” Tony taunts with a sly grin but pink cheeks. “Come on, stop gawking at me.”

“You’ve gotta stop being gorgeous first, sweetheart,” Steve fires back and savors the way his side of the bond explodes with fuschias and reds and pinks. “We’re still missing a few things. Keep the water warm for me.” He leaves before Tony can protest or question what he’s doing. He descends to the kitchen and though he isn’t able to find champagne or strawberries, he does find a bottle of Pink Moscato and a jar of peaches.

Tony is giving himself a soap beard when he returns.

Steve couldn’t keep himself from laughing even if he tried. He chuckles and shows Tony his haul, and grins when the Omega perks up. He puts it all down on the thick ledge so Tony can help himself while he strips down quickly to climb into the pleasantly warm waters with him, turning on the jets.

Tony pours him a flute of the Moscato, hands it over, and then pours for himself. “Should we toast to something? I feel like we should,” he remarks as they float near each other in the deep jacuzzi tub.

“What would you like to toast to?”

“I don’t know really. Rainbows?”

Steve chuckles affectionately and holds up his glass. “To rainbows then.”

“Long may they live,” Tony adds and clinks their glasses together before taking a deep pull. He sets his empty glass on the ledge and takes the time to pour another glass. He drains that one too and a flush spreads up his chest to the back of his neck. Then he’s plucking slices of peaches dripping in sugary syrup, eating each one with a lewd groan of pleasure.

“Good?” Steve rumbles as he watches him hungrily.

Tony nods and licks his fingers clean. “Do you want a taste?” he asks, licking innocently at his bottom lip. He's looking at Steve with soulful eyes as if he knows that if he asked, he could get Steve to pluck the stars from the night sky and hand them over to him.

And Steve would do it. He would do it without hesitation. He says, “I don’t know if you mean the fruit or yourself. I won’t say no to either.”

Tony grins through his next blush and his side of the bond unfolds in marigolds, but there is a deeper shade of burgundy there and it makes Steve’s mouth dry when he remembers what that particular color means. He’d seen the same hue when he made himself at home between Tony’s trembling thighs.

“Bring it here,” Steve says because if he has to go get it himself, he will have Tony sitting on the edge of the tub with his legs tossed up in the 'peace sign' while Steve licks his way inside. He loves the taste of Tony; when he helps himself to his Omega's body, there’s this hunger that comes over him that he thinks only Tony’s body can satisfy. “Won’t bite, honey,” he encourages as he settles back and sits down on one of the tub’s seat grooves, setting his flute of Moscato down on the ledge.

Tony runs a shaky hand through his damp hair as he exhales, his flush deepening under Steve’s gaze and his side of the bond is bursting with burgundy and marigold sparks. He grabs the jar of peaches and floats over, stopping when he’s right before Steve, who tries to keep his expression as neutral as possible but he does nothing to hide how he feels in his eyes.

“Water too hot?” Steve teases as he brushes his knee along the outside of Tony’s thigh, unable to resist. “You’re getting awfully rosy there.”

“Not the - not the water making me like this,” Tony mumbles dazedly as he sways more towards Steve, reaching out to steady himself with a hand to Steve’s shoulder.

Steve, likewise, reaches beneath the surface to rest a hand on Tony's naked hip. He loves Tony's curves. “Not the water, huh? Maybe it’s the drink then?”

Tony shakes his head as he bites his bottom lip and clumsily fishes out a peach slice and presses it sloppily against Steve’s mouth.

Steve holds his gaze as he opens up and lets his Omega sink the sticky, slippery soft fruit in his mouth. He even catches the tips of Tony’s fingers, nipping at them playfully until Tony gives a startled laugh while he jerks that hand away before slapping Steve on the arm.

“You said you wouldn’t bite!” Tony exclaims with an amused grin and moves to grab another peach, more enthusiastically this time.

“Did I?” Steve pretends to try and recall it with a half-grin that Tony rolls his eyes at. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just ain’t expect it t' taste so good, is all. Tastes like you do when I get you there.”

Tony chokes on his own reply, fingers going slack as he drops the peach slice into the water between them.

Steve’s able to fish it out while Tony is rebooting and he still eats it.

Tony blinks, blushing furiously, as he wrinkles his nose. “Oh, Steve, don’t do that.”

“What? Five-second rule counts on land and sea.”

Tony pretends to gag before he shifts away to grab Steve’s flute and bring it back to the Alpha. “Come on, catch up. You barely even took a few sips.”

“You trying t' get me drunk?” Steve teases but accepts the flute. He coughs when Tony climbs into his lap and sits on his thighs, sighing when their arousals brush but Tony makes no move to continue to grind against him.

“Not at all,” Tony promises innocently and starts giving Steve a soap beard but all Steve can think about is the fantasy Tony confessed to earlier. “Finish this glass and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Not exactly a burden to have you fussing over me,” Steve quips but he swallows that glass down because that’s what Tony wants and he’s always ready to indulge Tony’s whims. He watches Tony put the jar of peaches back on the ledge after feeding Steve one last slice. He chews, swallows, and says, “We should get these masks off. There are some sponges floating around somewhere.”

Tony smiles when Steve wraps an arm around his waist to keep him from getting up to go retrieve them. “Let me look for them. I’ll be right back,” he swears.

Steve frowns and he pulls Tony closer, grinding up just to get Tony to gasp and grab at his shoulders with a desperate and slippery grip. Then he lets go and says, “Okay. Happy hunting.”

Tony makes a disgruntled sound, glaring at him as he reluctantly slides away. “You are evil, Rogers,” he complains as he wades through the waters and the bubbles to try and fish out said sponges. “Evil.”

“I’d like to think of it more as motivation to come back to me sooner,” Steve replies.

Tony snorts, glancing his way once before dismissing him altogether as he continues to look. “Hard to take you seriously when you've got a soap beard makes you look like Patchy the Pirate.”

Steve just hums and pretends to stroke it thoughtfully and grins when it gets Tony to snicker in a way that makes him feel lightheaded.

“Aha!” Tony holds up two foam sponges triumphantly and carefully marches back over to Steve so he can climb back into his lap. They both shiver at the physical reunion and get sidetracked by grinding against each other breathlessly for a few moments. Tony is the first to stop. “Steve, we have to get this stuff off our faces so you can kiss me like I want you to,” he blurts, braving the words through the flush that crawls up the back of his neck.

Steve nods, enthralled, and takes gentle care with wiping away the hardened mask on Tony’s face with soft but broad strokes.

Tony seems to melt under the touch as he keeps his head still and his eyes closed.

Steve lowers the sponge into the water to rinse it out before he continues working on Tony’s forehead. “You've been so good tonight, honey. Not surprising, considering it’s you. I can’t wait to take you to bed and give you what you deserve.”

Tony shivers under the sound of his voice, fidgeting on Steve’s thighs as he exudes more of those mouth-watering pheromones.

Steve doesn’t say much more than that. He doesn’t want to get Tony too riled up. He just mostly wants Tony to have something to look forward to.

A few more beats of silence pass.

“Done,” Steve says wiping away the last of the mask.

Tony’s eyes flutter open and his gaze is drowsy yet content. “You next?” he asks slowly, almost slurring.

Steve just hums thoughtfully as he reaches up to sweep his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip. “How relaxed are you, honey?”

Tony blinks slowly, staring at him intently. “Pretty - pretty relaxed, I think. I - I’ve never - Steve, I’ve never felt like this before,” he admits, shivering.

Steve shushes him, his focus sharpening in response and suddenly he’s not seeing enough of Tony. He wants to caress and explore every groove and curve of Tony's body. He drops his hands and starts massaging Tony’s thighs. “It’s okay. You can let go. I’m here and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Tony whimpers. “Please,” he begs like he doesn’t really understand what he wants, what he’s asking for.

Steve does. “I know. Don’t worry. I’m gonna take care of you. Let’s finish up in here, first. You think you can help me with my mask?”

Tony swallows but nods confidently. He wipes away at Steve’s face with single-minded determination, shivering, trembling under Steve’s heated gaze and murmured praises and the hands that don’t stop massaging his thighs. By the end of it, Tony is pretty much writhing in his lap. “Oh god, Steve, you have to stop saying all that or I’m not going to be able to wait until we get to bed," he warns.

Steve is strong enough to keep him pinned on top of his thighs where he can’t thrust forward or get any real friction out of the position. “I think you can. I think you can wait,” he replies calmly, fingers twitching in the firm grip his has on Tony’s thighs when Tony gives a half-choked whine, shaking his head adamantly. “Hey, it’s okay. You can. You’re always exceeding my expectations. S’why I’m so confident, Tony. What do I always say?”

Tony’s still trembling over him, his hands are curled around Steve’s neck, not really applying pressure, but more so to ground himself it seems. He says, “You say - you say that it’s - it’s you and me and - and I - I -”

“You can say it.”

Tony groans as his face gets blotchy with pink. “You think I’m perfect,” he chokes out as his eyes fill with tears.

“That’s right. You are, honey. Absolutely,” Steve swears firmly. “Your parents didn’t understand what they had and that’s why I’m not giving you back to them. They’re morons. You are so much more than what they tried to make you believe. S’funny, y'know. All that money and power they have, but they still don’t understand how t' value something more precious than all the riches of this world.”

Tony rushes forward and sweeps him into a kiss that’s biting and desperate and _greedy_. He kisses Steve in a method that’s stupefying yet spiritual, savage in a manner that leaves Steve feeling absolutely wrecked in a way he only feels when he’s teetering into an asthma attack. Christ, the things he is going to _do_ to Tony, if only Tony _knew,_ but he's going to find out soon enough.

Steve is the first to pull away to catch his breath, though he hates to even have to do it. He had started to see spots, and the last thing he wants is to pass out. The Moscato is definitely swimming in his system but it doesn’t compare to how much his desire for Tony makes his blood boil.

Tony just watches him pant for a moment with darkly keen and piercing eyes. He licks at his own succulent mouth as if he’s trying to get more of a taste of what Steve might have left behind like a cat trying to lick up the last of its favorite cream. He looks famished.

“Careful,” Steve rumbles lowly, still panting slightly. “You keep looking at me like that and I’ll have t' do something about it.”

“Want you to,” Tony breathes, leaning in to press a firm but chaste kiss against Steve's mouth. “Please.”

“Not yet, honey,” Steve groans against his lips while Tony keeps stamping short kisses on his mouth like he’s trying to change Steve’s mind. It's kind of working. “Come on. We got all the time in the world,” he promises as he coaxes Tony off of him so he can go grab some soap. He sets the sponges and the bottle of liquid soap on the ledge before he sits down and repositions Tony so he’s sitting between his knees.

Tony leans back to rest against Steve’s chest when Steve urges him to do so. He sighs and relaxes the moment Steve begins to carefully knead and massage his shoulders. “Okay, that’s not bad. I think I can wait a little longer if you keep doing that.”

Steve huffs and finds his mouth curling fondly. “Yeah? That's kinda what I was hoping for.”

“God, you and your goddamn maneuvers,” Tony laughs, shutting his eyes while he melts under Steve’s hands. “I can see why you excelled to high ranks in ROTC.”

Steve scoffs but he doesn’t disagree. “I’m good with holding authority,” he supposes. “Mostly cause I don’t treat positions of power like it’s owed to me. I think when people put you up like that, it’s your duty to serve the people’s interests instead of your own. If people are giving you their trust, you need t' be paying it back in service and respect.”

Tony hums in agreement. “Gonna have to start calling you ‘captain’ now.”

“Already? I haven’t even shown you everything I can do … in the biblical sense.”

Tony chokes on his next laughter and swats at one of the legs boxing him in. “Oh give me a break!” he exclaims and continues to laugh.

Steve chuckles. He drops his hands to rest over Tony’s shaking shoulders before he runs them up and down Tony’s arms. “We’re getting pretty pruney. You ready to wrap this up?”

“Yes,” Tony responds and twists around so they can face each other. “You know, there are some studies that say pruney fingers may be an evolutionary thing. Our body’s way of trying to adapt in a way where we’d have the ability to grab at the water.”

“Makes sense.” Steve leans to the side to grab the soap and their sponges. He hands one to Tony and pours soap on it. “Do me, and I’ll do you.”

Tony gets a little pink but he smirks and boldly wiggles his eyebrows.

Steve huffs and shakes his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh don’t worry, Cap. I understand perfectly.” Tony grins and does this horrible twitch of a wink that has Steve laughing while he struggles to bring them both to their feet as carefully as possible.

They take turns washing each section of each other’s body; the glide of the sponge is exploratory from both sides.

Steve is usually more shy about his small frame but Tony has this way of looking at him with curious fascination, not pity or like he would change a thing like Steve's previous partners were prone to do, but of course not Tony. Tony has never once made him believe that he’s not enough and it makes all his insecurities fade away every time they try and spring up. He hopes he does that for Tony, he certainly tries.

Steve gives in pretty easily to the request Tony makes about wanting to help Steve wash his hair. He lets Tony have his fun with it, shivering under those skillful fingers that scratch and massage his scalp.

Tony is quite gentle about the whole thing, asking after Steve to be sure that he isn’t causing the Alpha any discomfort. He seems to get it after Steve’s replies start slurring together. Tony’s side of the bond becomes proud shades of burgundy and red and pink. He uses the detachable faucet to rinse Steve’s hair before he hands over the shampoo and conditioner to him with an expectant look.

Steve’s efforts are a little more clumsy, still drowsy with the spell Tony’s fingers have put him under when he paid every inch of Steve’s scalp with gratifying attention.

Tony doesn’t complain about it. He just sits quietly with an amusedly heated gaze while his side of the bond blooms in the darkest hues of purple and burgundy. By the time Steve uses the detachable faucet to rinse the conditioner out of Tony’s hair, the Omega is beginning to look contentedly drowsy himself.

Steve helps him climb out of the tub with him and has him wait a moment so he can get them some towels. He wraps one around himself before he moves to bundle up Tony, who has started to shiver. Checking that he’s okay, he guides Tony back to the bedroom and has him sit on the edge of the bed.

He takes the time to use an extra towel to gently dry Tony’s hair with. He’s distracted the whole time, however, by the way Tony stares at his mouth with stormy, impatient eyes. It makes certain parts of Steve’s body light right up, but he can feel the slow sleeping exhaustion of his Rut’s peak creeping up on him. Once it hits, it'll make him quite useless for hours. He’s determined to take care of Tony before that happens.

“Look at you, being so good,” Steve compliments as he tosses all their towels off to the side. “I’m gonna give you a choice, sweetheart. My fingers or my tongue?”

Tony makes a strangled sound as he squeezes his thighs together in that way he does when he gets really wet. He’s so beautifully responsive, Steve loves it. “I - I want -” He’s panting. “Want your fingers.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, though I’ll take what I can get either way,” Steve muses just to watch the way Tony gets red all over as his body produces more slick and exudes more of those floral-scented pheromones. “Move up towards the headboard. Let’s get comfortable.”

Tony nods as he worries his bottom lip shyly but he makes quick work of making a nest of pillows for himself to lean back against while Steve climbs after him.

Steve waits until Tony is nice and comfortable before rearranging his legs to fold more toward his chest, loving how lithe and flexible the Omega is. He says, “Keep these right there for me, honey. I’m trusting you not to move.”

Tony grips the back of his knees with a shaky exhale, his face going hot when he produces more slick.

Steve makes a sympathetic sound as he runs a finger down the underside of his cock, which is twitching with an angry flush, spurting drops of pre-cum. He ignores the way Tony squirms a bit as his one-fingered caress glides down his ball sack to skirt over, very lightly, his glistening opening.

“Steve,” Tony pants, toes curling in the air on either side of Steve’s head when the Alpha presses that finger in ever so slightly. “Oh - _please._ ”

Steve allows the finger to breach all the way down to the first knuckle before withdrawing, ignoring the way Tony moans mournfully. “Few things I think we should discuss,” he says calmly, watching the way Tony’s hole clenches desperately at nothing. “I can’t really have sex the traditional way when I'm at a pinnacle of hormones during the peak of my Rut.”

Tony nods and gasps sharply when Steve breaches him again, this time with two fingers and just like before, he sinks in down to the second knuckle, like he’s testing the resistance before withdrawing again. Tony hiccups mournfully, thighs trembling as he begins to beg.

Steve gently shushes him and continues, “I’m sure you’ve already learned that Ruts are more to ensure the functionality of my reproductive system. So, I’ll be hard enough to cut diamonds but I won’t be able to cum.”

Tony is full on sobbing when Steve slowly sinks two fingers inside of him again, keeping the glide steady and firm up to the third knuckle, not even twisting or turning at all. Both of Tony’s legs are shaking when Steve just keeps his fingers there, and he's groaning at the way Steve stares at him like he’s not even affected by how much he’s getting Tony to fall apart.

Oh but Steve is very much affected. He’s just good at pretending. He continues, without pulling his fingers out this time while Tony spasms around his fingers, “It’s really uncomfortable, but it’s the only way my body knows how to make sure I’m virile. It always hits me like a fever, and it’s overwhelming. I won’t be able to get out of bed.”

“What can I - _oh god_  - what can I do to help?” Tony asks/begs, still clenching around Steve’s immobile fingers. “I heard that - that cock warming helps with - with how uncomfortable it can be. Jesus, I’ll give you _anything_ if you stop fucking teasing me.”

Steve grins a little meanly and he lets his fingers curl slightly to graze Tony’s inner walls, just to get Tony’s toes to fan out while he spasms around those fingers with a high throaty sound. “You’d be willing to host me for twelve hours?” he asks.

Tony is white-knuckling the back of his knees in an effort not to move. He makes a soft sound when Steve turns his head and kisses one of his ankles with gentle encouragement. “Yeah,” he finally replies, sounding faintly desperate and amused. “I would love any excuse to just sit on that beautiful dick of yours just to sit on it, Steve. Isn’t it obvious?”

Steve freezes at that and he can feel his blood roaring in his ears. He sounds a bit strangled when he says, “Oh, well. That’s certainly good to know. You’re too sweet to me, honey.”

“I am,” Tony huffs as he clenches pointedly around his immobile fingers. “Even when you are such an evil bastard to me. Come _on_. Give it to me, _please_.”

“Can’t really say no to a request like that when you use such pretty words,” Steve rumbles and withdraws his fingers. “Relax. Breathe.”

Tony whines in frustration. “ _Steve_ …”

“You’re making a mess, honey. You must want it bad,” Steve remarks as he brings those fingers up and takes his time sucking the slick off of them with what he knows must be lewd and indecent sounds. “Sweet like peaches. You get wet like a thunderstorm, or maybe an ocean. I could drown,” he groans around his own fingers.

Tony watches, panting as he trembles with the strain of keeping himself still. Tears of frustration are welling up in his eyes again. “P-please. Steve, I need it, _please_.” He’s sobbing now.

Steve curls a hand around Tony's hip and grabs a pillow to put under so he can get Tony’s hips in a better angle. Then he wastes no time sinking three fingers in this time, breaching him slow and steady. Then he starts massaging Tony’s inner walls, searching and seeking, using his gift for spatial reasoning until -

“ _Oh Jesus - oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck -_ ”

“Right there?”

“ _Yes yes yes yes!_ ” Tony is clenching around his fingers with each moan. “ _Ah. Ah, fuck!_ ”

Steve has him gasping now, his toes are starting to curl up again by Steve's ears, and his thighs are trembling. He likes the way Tony looks drunk with his pleasure, dazed and desperate, shameless in the way he begs for more.

Steve gives it to him, settling on a rhythm that works for the both of them, twisting and thrusting his fingers in and out until Tony can’t do anything but take it with strangled cries of urgency. He looks like a vision, so bewitching that Steve barely notices that he’s painfully hard himself.

Tony shakes his head with a whine when Steve completely withdraws. “Oh _god, oh shit,_ you sadist, you absolute _maniac_. Put them fucking _back_ , or I will _-_ I swear I will _\- god, yes, fuck -”_

Steve laughs darkly as he breaches Tony again with three fingers, sinking inside that vice grip of heat that swallows him up greedily in the slowest glide he can manage, nailing Tony’s prostate dead on when he gets down to the third knuckle. Then he pulls out completely again to watch Tony’s body wink lewdly back at him over and over despairingly at the emptiness Steve dares to leave behind.

“Gonna need you to remember how this feels,” Steve remarks lowly. He knows he sounds wrecked himself, but he has a point to prove here. He soldiers on, “Got asthma, honey. Can’t really afford to do it at a quicker pace than this, though I'll try.”

Tony gives a hiccuping sob when Steve sinks just two fingers inside this time.

“I’ll give it to you slow and deep,” Steve continues and moves his fingers along with the words. “Just like this.” He twists, pressing up as Tony’s hips jerk and he cries out. Giving it to Tony this way helps him from dealing with an aching wrist or cramping fingers. He’s come a long way with learning the best methods of dealing with his physical limitations, glad for it now more than ever because of Tony. He presses up again and Tony gives a full body shiver as he clenches around his fingers. “Yes, slow and deep. But I promise I’ll get us both there without dying in the process or reaching for my inhaler.”

“I will _not_ survive it,” Tony swears with a strangled gasp, tears sliding down his temples. His trembling form is covered in a sheen of sweat and flush of arousal. “If you give me your dick, I am very sure that I will die if it feels even half as good as this does, _god_.”

Steve laughs and adds another finger. “Flatterer,” he teases and builds up his rhythm again.

Tony groans. “Can I - I need to -”

“You can move.”

Tony lets go of one of his knees to plant that hand on the bed so he can rock and get some traction to thrust down on Steve’s fingers while his foot rests on one of Steve's shoulders.

Steve scoots back so he can keep this angle, but also so he can swallow Tony's cock all the way down.

Tony gives a startled shout, thrusting up and down where Steve has him trapped between his mouth and his fingers. He twists his hips back and forth like he doesn’t know if he wants more of Steve’s fingers or more of his tongue.

Steve picks up speed, thrusting his long fingers inside, hitting Tony’s prostate relentlessly and leans heavily on the fact that he has no gag reflex, taking Tony all the way to the back of his throat so he can swallow and swallow and swallow.

Tony grabs at his hair with both hands, pulling almost painfully but it sends a shiver of pleasure through Steve instead of putting him off. He doubles his efforts because suddenly all he wants is Tony to cum so hard that it shatters him completely.

Tony responds favorably to his desperation by tightening up all over, legs shaking as his head slams back on his pillow, mouth opening with a strangled wail that Steve knows for a fact that everybody in the mansion, even the neighbors, probably hear. He shoots down Steve’s throat while he contracts wildly around Steve’s fingers. His orgasm must be really intense because Tony starts doing that thing he does when he tries to run from it, tries to crawl away mindlessly.

Steve laughs as he wipes his mouth, charmed and flattered that he has to grab Tony’s ankle before Tony can tip himself off the bed. “Honey … where are you going?” he asks as he drags him back.

“Don’t fucking know,” Tony mumbles tiredly as he flops onto his back like he's spent.

Steve watches him catch his breath while he takes the initiative to massage Tony’s feet while he calms down.

Tony makes grabby hands at him without opening his eyes after a while.

Steve huffs and slides into the space beside him. He sighs when Tony twists toward him and reaches down with both hands to jerk him off slowly. He groans when Tony pulls away, and he thinks he’s getting payback for all his teasing but Tony’s just taking the time to spit in his hands before he returns them to make the glide of his hands over Steve’s cock easier.

Steve grunts his approval and thrusts up into those talented hands. He’s so focused on fucking into that perfect circle grip that he almost misses the way Tony is watching him do it through lowered lids.

“Does this feel … is it doing anything for you?” Tony finally asks, sounding intrigued and curious as he picks up speed, his hands a blur over Steve’s cock.

Steve comes with a choked up hiccoughing noise that Tony is quick to swallow while Steve spills over his hand in jet after jet that never seems to stop coming. He doesn’t think he’s cum that hard since he lost his virginity in high school.

Tony holds him close, kissing Steve the whole time his orgasm races through his limbs like liquid heat. They’re both gasping for air when Tony pulls back and says, “Wow. You came a lot.”

Steve doesn’t have enough brain power to respond so he just nods makes a vague gesture with his hand.

It’s enough to get Tony to laugh and stamp smiling kisses all over his face. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

Steve makes another vague gesture since his tongue still refuses to cooperate. He falls asleep with Tony curled up against him, the East Coast sunrise coloring the walls of their room with streaks of dark reddish oranges and yellows.

.

.

.

Steve wakes up freezing, teeth chattering as a chill settles deep into his bones, gnawing away like termites to wood. He’s painfully hard, and the sheets he’s wrapped up in feels like sandpaper against his skin. He can’t even open his eyes, the daylight feels like it’d stab right through his skull if he tried, so he doesn’t. His stomach gurgles miserably with hunger, both carnal and nutritional in nature. He whimpers, too tired to move, but too overwhelmed by his senses to think properly.

Someone shushes him and there’s a cool touch to his forehead and the sides of his face that makes him sigh and settle. “You’re burning up, lamb,” a voice says.

Steve likes the voice. It doesn’t sound like a jackhammer in the way that the cry of seagulls from the opened windows do. He wants to hear it more, but he can’t ask. His tongue feels like a heavy dry sponge in his mouth. He groans weakly, but even that hurts his throat.

“I know, I know,” the voice says shushing him. It’s Tony. “I’ve got you, Steve.”

Steve settles and sighs into the gentle kiss he’s given. It warms him to the core and chases away the chill gnawing at his bones. But then the lips are gone and ice slams back into his system. He whimpers.

Tony shushes him again and the bed moves and dips with Tony’s exit. “I’m right over here, lamb. It’s okay,” he says from somewhere to Steve’s far right. There’s the screech of an intercom that Steve flinches away from. “Shit, sorry. Forgot how sensitive an Alpha's hearing gets. Hang on. I’ll have to repair it, but maybe food first? Yeah. Food first, and then fix intercom. Hi, yes. Hello. Can we get some food up here?”

Steve listens lucidly as Tony puts in an order for breakfast and drinks and protein bars and lots of water. He tells whoever is on the other end of the intercom what room and floor they are on.

“Okay, that’s sorted. Now this intercom.”

Steve grimaces as the commotion of what Tony is doing reaches him and it’s like nails to a chalkboard.

“Sorry, sorry!” The noise stops and Tony mutters thoughtfully to himself. “What if I sing? Maybe that would help you ignore all the other sounds. Or maybe it’ll make things worse. Not the greatest singer, you know? Uh … only way to find out, I guess. I hope you don’t mind the entire soundtrack of _The Little Mermaid._ ”  

Steve normally wouldn’t care either way, but coming from Tony, he finds that he loves it for the way it’s able to soothe him like a lullaby. He drifts back into a light doze that he’s startled out of when there’s a knock to the door.

Tony shushes him when he starts growling warningly to whoever is stupid enough to invade Steve’s territory. Tony is saying, “Thank you.” Someone else is replying and then Tony replies, “No, that’ll be all for now. Maybe tell the others not to come up to this floor? And could you have Yenny look into some local doctors offices for me? Thank you.”

The door shuts and Tony is clicking the lock, settling Steve’s rattling protective instincts. He could feel his muscles tensing for a fight but the smell of warm food distracts him away from ripping apart whoever that had been at the door.

“Come on. Up you get.” Tony is propping him against a throne of pillows before settling beside him.

Steve blinks but it’s a hard effort to keep his eyes open. He can only glimpse a few things from what he does manage, the room still too bright and loud with sunlight, the smell of seawater from the open windows is nauseating, as is the piercing cries of seagulls. When Tony tries to curl up to him he shrinks away with a wounded sound because whatever Tony is wearing rubs roughly against his skin.

“Shit! Sorry. It’s my clothes, right? Hang on.”

Steve isn’t sure how much time passes before Tony returns, pressing into his side with gloriously warm and naked skin. He nuzzles closer and likes the way Tony’s laugh rings in his ears and makes heat spread all over. His mouth waters at the pheromones wafting from Tony, and also the food truthfully.

“Let’s get you fed,” Tony says and presses something against his mouth.

Steve opens his eyes as wide as he can get them, which is into slits, and finds Tony watching him with an indulgent amused smile, a buttery warm biscuit in his hand. He lets his lips part and Tony does the rest, pushing the baked good forward. He feeds Steve the whole thing, giving him drinks of water and orange juice in between bites to make sure it all goes down smoothly and then proceeds to feed him three more biscuits the same way.

Tony is confused when Steve makes himself turn his head away when Tony starts trying to feed him eggs. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Steve twists his head back and looks at him through lower lids. Doing anything seems to take the most energy but he needs to drive his point across, and so he reaches up shakily to press the forkful back towards Tony weakly.

“Oh.” Tony laughs in exasperation. “You want me to eat too, huh? Yeah, I can do that. God, look at you. Can barely look after yourself and you’re still trying to take care of me. Ridiculous.”

Steve wishes he could smile but he can’t but he does sigh pleasantly when Tony darts forward and kisses him quick. Then he’s pulling away to eat the forkful of eggs that he’d been trying to feed to Steve.

Tony is back to trying to feed him again once he’s had his fill of the food.

Steve doesn’t give him a hard time once he’s sure of that as well. He eats eggs, oatmeal, bacon, wedges of grapefruit sprinkled with brown sugar, and a short stack of pancakes. He lets Tony feed him until he feels like he’s about to burst and then he tries to make it clear without words that he can’t eat another bite.

“You did good, Steve. I think I kinda expected you to be a little more difficult than that. I’ve heard stories about Ruts, you know?” It sounds like Tony is cleaning things up and returning the dishes to the silver tray he carried all the food on to set aside. “But I should have known you’d exceed _my_ expectations. It’s funny. You always do it without even trying.”

Steve wishes he had the strength to open his eyes and see what kind of expression Tony is wearing. Since he can’t, he lets himself imagine that Tony’s lips are twisted in a charming smirk, his coy whiskey brown eyes glimmering playfully. He thinks on it for so long that it takes him a minute to realize that his teeth are chattering again.

But then the chill settles so deep in Steve’s bones that he’s forced to whimper weakly as he curls into the fetal position.

“Hang on, lamb. I’m coming.” Tony props him up again in the throne of pillows and there’s the sound of the cap of a bottle popping open, and the smell of lube.

Steve floats in and out of consciousness while Tony fingers himself open, and certain things come in flashes: the sound of Tony shushing him as his body is wracked with another chill - the weight of Tony settling above him, his thighs bracketing the outside of Steve's - the blissful sensation of warmth sinking down on his aching cock - the gasps and the whines Tony gives as he tries to adjust and hold himself still while he’s taking Steve in, baring down.

Steve thinks he murmurs something to Tony about how perfect he is, how wonderful he feels, how brave and good he’s being. He also thinks that Tony cries and clutches him close when he’s fully seated.

“S’okay, honey,” Steve slurs, trying to open his eyes but he can’t. He’s so bone-tired and Tony feels so good wrapped around him, chasing away the ice in his veins, keeping him warm. “C’mere. S’okay. Doin' great.”

Tony tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders, his tears leaking down Steve’s collarbone from where he’s hiding his face away. He’s trembling almost as much as Steve is because Tony is clenching around him and it really hurts. When he's this hard, during his Rut, he can find no pleasure in it really, though the cock-warming helps to keep the waves of chills at bay.

Eventually, Tony seems to figure out how to relax around him and the pressure is less like a vice grip and more of a firm hold. Steve sighs from the relief of it and instantly drops back off into sleep.

The next time he’s lucid, he’s still hard as hell and tucked deep inside of Tony, who is lying on his chest, napping. Steve has enough strength to put his hand on Tony’s lower back before he’s falling back into the abyss of his exhaustion again.

Tony wakes him to eat sometime later, and he feeds Steve protein bars while still sitting on his cock like a champ the whole time. He goes to great lengths to remain relaxed around Steve’s girth, but Steve can still smell the steady but faint smell of arousal coming from him. He thinks about what he’d like to do about that, fantasizing about how he’d like to take Tony apart on the sands of the beach under the pale moonlight.

Steve ends up falling asleep mid-bite, lucidly aware that Tony is laughing and cooing at him for it before Steve’s lost to his own feverish dreams.

The next time Steve is able to drift into consciousness for a short while is when the sun is setting low and tossing up veils of orange-gold, the color of fire hearths and tangerines, on the walls of their bedroom and across their naked skin. It becomes something Steve wants to paint and the thought follows him all the way into unconsciousness.

It’s Tony restless squirming that startles him awake next. “Sorry,” he whispers, sounding a bit winded. “I’m just - I can’t really - can’t sleep.”

Steve glances at him through slitted eyes and even with nothing but the moonlight to go by, he can make out the flush of arousal resting stubbornly high on Tony’s cheeks. “S’okay,” he promises, his voice hoarse from disuse. “You can - can take care of - of yourself.”

Tony stiffens over him and curses when it makes Steve wince painfully. He forces himself to relax. “I don’t want to hurt you. It’s fine. I can - I can ignore it. I’ve been reading my comics to take my mind off of it. I can just do - do that.”

“Too dark,” Steve mumbles, his eyes falling shut again. He’s not going to be able to stay awake long. He knows this next sleep will be his last one, but he can’t relax completely into it knowing that his Omega is distressed. “Touch yourself, honey. I can take it.”

Tony whimpers and clenches around him, making him gasp at the flare of pain that shoots down his cock at the motion. Tony makes a distressed sound. “I’m hurting you.”

“S’okay, don't care,” Steve mumbles tiredly. “S’okay, honey. You taking care of me, being so good. Want you to. S'okay.”

Tony whines and reaches between them to work himself, fast and desperate, and it's a testament to how much he'd been holding off because it takes him no time to reach orgasm. His body locks up around Steve as he gets closer and closer to the edge, finally reaching his peak with a wet gasp, contracting wildly around Steve as he shoots between them.

Steve grits his teeth and bares it, riding out the wave of pain that claws into him during Tony’s orgasm. He nearly cries in relief when Tony goes completely slack against him, boneless with satisfaction, and becomes like putty in his arms.

“Sorry,” Tony pants against his collarbone. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“S’okay. Wanted you to. Did good. Always so good.” Steve knows he’s drifting off and knowing that Tony’s doing better really shoves him right into it straight away. “Almost over,” he promises before he’s out like a light the next moment.


	11. YEAR 1: PART III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - my vacay got canceled so here we are ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Tony wakes to persistent tapping to his lower back. He’s confused at first until the rest of his senses catch up to him.

The room is bathed in the orangish-yellow glow of a rising sun creeping up over the horizon. There’s the sound of ocean waves rolling onto the beach through the open windows. God, how long had it been since he heard that sound and not something he’d have to depend on technology to simulate? Maybe a lifetime, though that's an exaggeration - his isolation at Stark Tower had been deliberately severe; a prison ... a cage.

A vacuum of heat is suspended in the air around him but a sweeping wind tinged with the smell of sea salt chases it away as seagulls cry in the distance. There's the gentle rise and fall of a body under him, Steve’s body, and the full, firm press of his Alpha inside of him. Steve's side of the bond is swimming in glittering wine colors and wriggles with a charming amount of serenity.

It’s not the worse way to wake up. It’s quite peaceful actually, and if the Tower had been a cruel terrarium, then in comparison, Steve is like an open sanctuary, his own private paradise of delights and wonders.

Tony spends a few seconds thinking that he would love to wake up like this for the rest of his life.

The persistent tapping to his lower back captures his attention after a while, and it doesn’t take a genius like him long to figure out that it’s Steve and that he’s doing it on purpose.

It’s Morse Code and Steve is drumming out a sequence that means ‘ _good morning_ ’ over and over.

Tony smiles. “Good morning to you as well. You know Morse Code. Should I pretend to be surprised?"

"If the mood strikes you."

Tony snorts and resists the urge to bite his shoulder for that one. "And how are we feeling?”

Steve flips them over very carefully and Tony barely has time to blink up at the ceiling before Steve crowds into his line of sight with a dangerous half-grin that makes Tony shiver, his toes curl, and his cock twitch in interest.

Tony blushes as he feels himself get wet around Steve’s perfect girth, still nestled deeply inside of him like it had been for the last twelve hours. He’s suddenly grateful for his foresight of spending nearly an hour to prep himself for his first time because he isn’t sore at all. As far as firsts go, Tony thinks he’s come out of it luckier than most. He doesn’t dare think of the horror stories they use to whisper about in the dormitories at night while he was still at boarding school.

“I’m fine,” Steve remarks, cutting through his thoughts as easily as a knife through soft butter. “Thank you for looking after me. How are you?”

“Peachy keen, Cap,” Tony teases lazily as he brings his knees up to rub enticingly slow against Steve’s side to see what the other man will do. “You weren’t a bother at all. Perfect angel.”

Steve smirks and that’s all the warning Tony gets before he’s gasping like a fish out of water because of a well-aimed thrust. “Glad to hear it, though I can't say I'd ever find it surprising, sweetheart. You always take good care of me when you can. You mind if I return the favor?”

Tony cries out, nearly choking at the burst of pleasure that claws into his body on Steve’s next thrust. He's never felt anything like  _that_ before. “ _Steve - oh god!_ ” He knows he’s shouting, knows he’s being too loud. His face grows hot as he thinks about how his strangled cries are probably floating through the mansion which still is definitely occupied with the live-in staff.

Steve withdraws completely and Tony finds himself desperately pawing at the Alpha’s shoulder blades to get him back inside. “You’re still thinking way too much,” he tsks, folding Tony’s legs more towards his chest before reaching down between them to grip his cock and position the head at Tony’s glistening opening. “Honey, you gotta let me do the thinking here.”

Tony can feel himself clenching desperately at nothing as he produces more slick but Steve’s baring all his weight down, keeping him trapped where his legs are tossed over Steve’s small shoulders. He groans in frustration, trying to wiggle down on Steve’s cock, which he keeps sliding teasingly back and forth against his opening.

Steve, the rude little shit, waits until Tony’s about to open his mouth to complain before he’s leaning forward again, pressing inside of Tony in the most delicious slide that lights Tony’s body up and makes his toes curls.

Tony chokes on a sharp gasp as Steve slams into his prostate before withdrawing completely again. He’s back to pawing at Steve’s back. “ _Oh god oh god oh - Steve, baby, please - fuck - I can’t -_ ”

“Now _that’s_ better,” Steve pants, breaching him again, going so agonizingly slow that it fries Tony’s brain, leaving him a trembling, sobbing mess. “When it’s just you and me like this, you don’t ever have to think about anything other than what I’m doing to you, or what you want me to do to you, or even what you want to do to me. That’s all that’s allowed. Nothing else. Understood?”

Tony gives a strangled wail when Steve sets a brutal rhythm without warning, hitting his prostate dead on each time. He can feel his body locking up around Steve and he knows that at this rate, he’s about to cum his brains out in a few minutes.

Steve must realize too because he slows to a stop before pulling out again, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“ _No no no -_ give it! Give it back. Want it, it’s _mine -_ fuck,” Tony fusses thunderously while he spasms wildly at nothing. He tries to wiggle under Steve’s weight but his limbs refuse to cooperate. Steve’s got him so stupid with pleasure that he’s gone a bit boneless, unable to do anything but lie there and just _take it_. “Steve…”

Steve chuckles darkly but he still sounds a bit winded and Tony finds himself getting so deeply wet because of his Alpha’s transparent confidence in his bedroom skills.

Though granted, it’s definitely well-deserved, and suddenly Tony thinks about that time where all those Omegas were at Steve’s childhood home, waiting for him with hopeful eyes. God, if Steve ever gave them a good dicking like this he definitely ( _totally_ ) understands why. He wouldn’t want to give it up either - he’d be there right along with them, rubbing elbows and hoping he’d get another chance to have this again.

Tony’s back arches, eyes slamming shut with a loud shout as Steve’s next well-aimed thrust ripples a sharp wave of pleasure through him. He unconsciously starts pushing his hips down but Steve fucking withdraws completely _again_. He whines at the loss.

Steve huffs breathlessly, hair sitting wetly on his glistening forehead. He leans forward, tongue gliding up the damp inner thigh of Tony’s left leg, sucking a mark there a moment to catch his breath again before he pulls back to say, “Still thinking too much, honey. Focus on teaching the neighbors my name.”

Tony gives a gasping laugh at that because for fuck’s sake - the absolute audacity of his husband. “Should I?” he pants, thighs trembling as Steve starts teasing the head of his cock against his gushing hole. “Maybe you should - should give it to me then so I - so I have a reason to.” God, why is it so hard to talk, to string simple words together? His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He kind of feels drunk.

Gradually, Steve begins to breach him again, pretending to mull over Tony’s suggestion as he does so, all the while Tony becomes a quivering mess under him with each inch that sinks inside. “So rude. Didn’t even hear a please,” he replies as he gives a shallow thrust.

Tony can feel his toes fan out as he moans, but something defiant still surges up in him. “Maybe you should - should do something to make me say it,” he challenges shakily.

Steve clicks his tongue admonishingly before pulling out. “Ah, ah. That’s not very polite, sweetheart,” he teases.

“So fuck me until I am,” Tony fires back and gasps sharply when Steve presses in suddenly, all the way to the hilt, thrusting up in a way that has Tony clenching around him desperately to keep him inside. “ _Oh_ ... _yes yes yes_ \- NO! _No, no, no_ , don’t you _dare_ \- _fuck!_ Give it fucking back, you  _asshole_ _..._ ”

“Yes?” Steve pants as he pauses suddenly, keep just the head inside, but he's shaking slightly with the effort. “I’m listening.”

“- _gonna kill you in your sleep -_ ”

“That’s not how you say please, honey.”

“- _you are a fucking nightmare -”_

“Not how you say please.”

_“- I swear I will do damage if you don’t -”_

“I can do this all day.”

 _“- can you just - god - why won’t you just -_ ”

Steve suddenly sinks back inside, thrusting hard a few times, making Tony cry out as their bed rocks with the motion, before he slows back down into more shallow thrusts.

“S-Steve ...” A choked cry cuts Tony off, winding him for a second, sending his thoughts skyrocketing into another galaxy. He can't take it anymore - he has to - he needs more. “Baby … _f-fuck_ … plea - _ah -_ please ... _please!_ ”

Slowly, Steve increases the pace, but not by much, just enough to turn Tony into a puddle of trembling limbs underneath him, just enough to get Tony to sob in relief, just enough to punch half-formed versions of Steve’s name with choked moans and strangled whimpers out of him in wet gasps, but not enough to send Tony completely over the edge.

Tony’s full on sobbing now, tears leaking from his eyes down his temples to join the sweat already building there. The pleasure is so good that it’s suffocating. The air between them is electric and sharp with a combination of pheromones wafting from the both of them. It only builds the intensity of his arousal, of his pleasure, and he knows that with the way he’s probably shouting the place down, he won’t ever be able to look at any of the live-in staff directly in the eye again.

Steve groans, picking up speed and it makes Tony hiccup with a gasping whine at how wrecked Steve sounds just then. “S-so gorgeous, honey. Always wanna g-give it to you like this.”

Tony sobs in agreement, trying to rock down into Steve’s thrusts, as his hand flies up to brace against the headboard. His hips move restlessly to try and create more of that delicious friction. “More," he breathlessly begs and starts shouting when Steve’s pace gets rough and deep.

The orgasm blindsides him by the way it seems to come from the deepest parts of his body before fanning out all over. It takes him completely by surprise that he doesn’t even have enough time to inhale enough air to cry out, and it leaves him silently screaming as he tightens up all over to contract wildly around Steve.

And Steve likewise wheezes like the breath has been knocked from him and his hips jerk to a sudden stop as he groans and finishes inside Tony.

Tony is still gasping for air, clawing at Steve’s back as he slowly moves his hips in a tight circle, milking both of their orgasms for as long as he can. Eventually, they both just collapse on their sides, Steve still nestled deep with half of his body pinning Tony’s leg to the bed under him.

“Well _done_ , Mr. Rogers,” Tony pants with breathless laughter. He feels absolutely boneless but unbelievably satisfied in a way that no orgasm he's had before has ever done. “Oh captain, my captain. Gold star. All the gold stars.”

Steve snorts and then snickers. “That’s awful,” he complains.

“I don’t know what you expect. You fucked me stupid. Like I am only working at a four percent thinking capacity. That’s two brain cells in layman's terms.”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Steve sighs. “Thinking maybe I ain’t do it good enough if you’re still lucid enough t' hold a conversation.”

Tony bites his bottom lip as he spasms around Steve and gets wet at the mere implications.

Steve glances sharply at him with heated amusement. He smirks and says, “You need it again already, huh?”

To Tony’s utter annoyance and embarrassment, he spasms around Steve again, just at the mere arrogant tone that his Alpha is wielding. “No, just tired,” he lies regardless.

Steve makes a thoughtful sound before giving a shallow, but well-aimed thrust, that makes Tony groan. “Tired, huh?”

Tony shivers all over and whines, “God, not anymore.”

“Good.” Steve rolls onto his back so that Tony can be on top this time. “Take it easy with me, honey. But take it.”

Tony can feel a blush curl around his body under Steve’s focused gaze as the Alpha offers his hands for them to thread their fingers together. Tony’s blush deepens as he’s forced to use that handhold for momentum, lifting slightly, just testing, before sinking down again.

Steve sighs and squeezes their fingers together affectionately. “Ah, that’s - yeah, honey, that’s good. Perfect.”

Tony groans, clenching on the next slide down, getting wet with the praise. He keeps that gentle rhythm going until he breaks out into another sheen of sweat. Then, leaning forward slightly, he starts getting bold, lifting higher before falling back with a light smack of skin. Fifteen minutes in, he’s found his stride, unable to keep quiet even if he was trying to.

“That’s it, honey,” Steve gasps under him, clutching at their hand-hold. “Fuck, you’re so good. Taking what you want so well.”

“Yes,” Tony moans, bouncing a little faster. “ _Yes yes yes yes - Steve_.”

Steve is looking up at him with shameless eyes, drinking him in, undressing him all over again as if he weren’t already completely naked. He's looking at Tony with his sketching eyes and Tony knows without knowing for sure that Steve is going to draw him just like this, just as he is now, just as they are in that moment someday.

“God, get up here so I can kiss you,” Tony groans, never stopping his pace.

Steve scrambles into a sitting position and drags Tony into a frantically filthy kiss that makes Tony even wetter, and the different angle has him falling on Steve’s cock and right onto his prostate.

“I’m close - oh _fuck I'm gonna -_ ” Tony whines, thighs shaking with it as the pleasure builds to new heights. His gasps become more and more strangled the closer he gets to reaching the edge, his left hand slapping at the headboard behind Steve almost frantically.

Steve is sucking a mark onto the side of his neck when he pants, “Yeah? Do it, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Tony rocks faster and faster until he gives a choked half-cry, practically sobbing like he’s gasping for air but can’t quite get it. His hips swerve to a sudden stop as his orgasm makes him lock up all over, building momentum deep inside the pit of his gut before rolling out like a wave of liquid heat, coursing the strongest sensation of pleasure throughout his entire body. His hips jerk forward again as he clutches his hands in Steve’s hair in a viciously dazed grip while he catches his second wind to continue to ride his Alpha through the orgasm, spasming around Steve while the older man grunts and thrusts up into him as he finishes as well.

“Oh god,” Tony whimpers, tears streaming down his face as he starts riding Steve frantically. “Oh _fuck -_ I’m - I’m - gonna - again - I - oh _shit_ _.”_ And he's drifting through his next orgasm, much to his surprise, yelping as he chases after it, his cock squirting between them as the pleasure crashes into him. He’s breathless, all sound completely escaping him, he can only whine silently as Steve clings to him as he tries to scramble away.

“Don’t run from it, honey,” Steve pants, thrusting his hips up before flipping them over to put Tony on his back. “Come on, come on, I know you’ve got another one in there for me. Come on, sweetheart. Come on, give it to me. Give it to me, it’s mine.”

Tony gasps sharply, clawing and ripping at the sheets while Steve sets a brutal pace. He can’t even speak, can’t even think, can only lie there and take it as Steve fucks into him, whispering about how pretty he is when he cums, how much he wants more of it, practically begging greedily to Tony until Tony has no choice but to shiver and give in as the next wave of overwhelming pleasure claws right into him, fanning out everywhere like a tidal wave, leaving him writhing and gasping as he spills between them for the final time, face soaked with tears because it borders just on the edge of pain. He whites out for who knows how long and regains his senses while Steve is tucking and wrapping them up in their sheets in a two-human filled burrito of blankets.

Tony makes a tired but contented sound, snuggling closer to Steve, who chuckles affectionately, pulling him closer even though they are already plastered against each other. “I’m onto you,” he mumbles tiredly, kissing Steve’s collarbone before settling his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve huffs. “How so?”

“Got everyone thinking you’re such a nice guy, opening doors, laying your jacket down on puddles, treating everyone with equal respect, but that’s not what gets all those Omegas to come back or ask after you.” Tony tangles their legs together. “I mean, _Jesus,_  Steve. If you’ve rearranged their guts as spectacularly well like how you just did with me, I totally would be on the same boat. I’m officially joining the Steven Grant Rogers Appreciation Fan Club.”

“Feel like you’re calling me a slut without actually saying it,” Steve replies, but his tone is too full of cheer and good humor for him to actually be offended.

Tony makes a thoughtful sound and gives Steve a weak excuse for a pat on the cheek. “Which is my point exactly. You are my slut, so it’s all good,” he reasons and jerks with a sudden laugh when Steve’s fingers start dancing up and down his side. “Ah - _haha_ \- Steve!”

Steve eventually has mercy on him and lets up. “Okay, why don't you go ahead and get some sleep. I know you’re tired. I’ve got enough sleep to last me for the next twenty-four hours.”

“If I take a nap, what will you do?”

“Give into my nagging instincts of scenting you,” Steve admits, already relaxing into the nest of pillows he made for the both of them.

Tony kisses him with a lot of tongue to show Steve his thanks for the consideration of his comfort before he twists so he can lie in Steve’s arms as the little spoon. He closes his eyes and says, “We should have cheeseburgers for lunch.”

“Yeah,” Steve mumbles a bit dazedly and Tony listens to him get completely invested in his scenting with a little smile. “Sounds good.” He kisses the back of Tony’s neck, running his hands all over Tony’s body. “Anything you want.”

Tony feels himself drifting off with a grin under the attention.

.

.

.

The clap of thunder startles Tony awake. His first instinct is to reach out for Steve, and it takes him a moment to realize that Steve still has him tucked safely in his arms in the swaddle of the sheets around them. He relaxes and sighs before taking a few seconds to get his bearings and let his heart slow down into a less flighty tempo.

Since he’s facing away from the open windows, he has to twist in Steve’s arms. That brings him and Steve face to face but his Alpha is sound asleep (so much for twenty-four hours, ha!). He takes a moment to drink in the details of Steve’s facial features, sighing like a lovesick fool over how adorable and handsome Steve is when he’s sleeping.

Another clap of thunder startles him again and he has to lift his head to look out the windows. Black clouds sprawl across the sky, billowing in from the east. It’s not raining but it’s windy enough that the shutters begin to slap noisily against the windows. It makes him shiver with the barest hint of fear, his mind jumping to wild conclusions about hurricanes and tornadoes. And of course, the spike in his scent is what triggers Steve right into consciousness.

Steve makes a soft sound, growling as he lifts his head to glance around and look for a threat that isn’t tangibly there.

Tony bops him on the nose. “You gonna fight the weather for me, Cap?” he teases, even though his heart is still galloping double time.

Steve’s face twists with sleepy confusion before it flattens into comprehension once another rumble of thunder rolls across the sky. “S’raining?” he mumbles tiredly as he glances over his shoulder.

“Almost. It’s really windy … maybe like a little too windy?” Tony hazards and sighs when Steve huffs while he runs his hands up and down Tony’s back in a soothing caress that Tony has no choice but to melt into. “Should we go to a cellar or something? What’s the protocol for hurricanes?”

“It’s the off-season, honey,” Steve promises, voice still scratchy with sleep. “Sam and Riley wouldn’t catapult us out here if it wasn’t. Just a noisy thunderstorm, I’m thinking, since we’re sitting on the coast. All that water is making it sound more serious than it is. Want me t' close the windows?”

Tony frowns but he shakes his head, relaxing a little bit more. Well, at least enough to notice that Steve’s stomach is growling. He grins. “Hungry?”

Steve gives him a fond look that’s drenched with an indecent amount of heat behind it. “Yes and no,” he replies vaguely. His hands start sweeping lower. “How about you? Hungry?”

Tony isn’t sure how he’s expected to think when his husband is literally kneading and massaging the globes of his ass with a distracting amount of intent. “You’re just trying to get up in my guts again,” he accuses.

“If that’s what the kids these days call it,” Steve remarks offhandedly before reeling Tony in for a kiss that’s both sweet and sincere.

Tony shuffles back, leaning away so he can say, “You know what keeps running through my mind?”

Steve is sucking new marks into his collarbone. “That you want to sit on my face as much as I want you to?”

“ _Jesus,_ Steve!” Tony exclaims as his hips thrust forward at the mere imagery that inspires, and he can feel himself get a little wet. “No. Cheeseburgers.”

“Cheeseburgers?” Steve chuckles darkly as he licks his way up to the edge of Tony’s ear. “Sweetheart, if you give me five minutes, that will change.”

Tony groans, grinding against Steve. “You are evil, Rogers. Diabolical. How’s a man supposed to choose between food and your tongue?”

“Five minutes, like I said, and I’ll make it more than clear to you.”

“Oh fuck off,” Tony laughs, shivering at the way Steve is teething at the shell of his ear, enough to make him clench and produce more slick. “Steve … as much as I don’t want to … I have to put my foot down. I’m starving. Last thing I had was a protein bar and the rest of me is starting to notice.”

Steve sighs, lying back against their nest of pillows to watch with diplomatic benevolence as Tony climbs out of their cocoon of blankets to make his way to the service intercom.

Tony feels like prey under that gaze, like there’s an imaginary timer counting backwards until the moment he will be at Steve’s mercy again. He really is hungry though, and he thinks they both are going to need the fuel for whatever Steve has planned for the rest of the day. He’s pretty sure his Alpha has no designs about them leaving the bed at least until tomorrow. Not that Tony is complaining or anything.

The kitchen staff takes their order without question, using the same professional neutral tone given before when Tony made some requests at the peak of Steve’s Rut.

When that’s settled and they let Tony know the food should be up within the hour, he circles back to the entertainment system resting above a dormant fireplace. It’s not hard for him to figure out what remote is for what, and soon he has a 65-inch flat screen lowering from the ceiling.

“What do you wanna watch?” Tony asks as he brings the remote back with him to snuggle up to Steve, who has himself propped against a throne of pillows.

Steve waits until he’s nice and comfortable, pressed into the warm line of Steve’s side, before he says, “ _The Little Mermaid_.”

Tony’s face goes up in flames. “You … you remember that?”

Steve gives him a toothy smile that Tony does _not_ care for at all. “You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

“You’re insane!” Tony exclaims and tries to pummel him with a pillow. “I have it on good authority that I sound like a cat being neutered without any drugs helping to keep them down.”

Steve just laughs, trying to dodge the swings, but he keeps telling Tony that he refuses to change his mind about it. It doesn’t take Steve long, however, to stop being docile under Tony’s swings, and soon they are wrestling in the sheets, lost to laughter and playful roughhousing. It’s all innocent in nature, reminiscent in the ways their ancestors must have utilized to strengthen bonds and build packs.

So it definitely wasn’t Tony’s intention to somehow end up flat on his back, hugging his knees to his chest as Steve slowly sinks inside of him while his toes curl in bliss.

And of course, that’s when there’s a knock to the door.

Tony’s shaking as he says, “Oh _shit_ … baby, the food.”

“It can wait.”

Tony laughs breathlessly. “Yes, possibly, but at least bring it in? Please?”

Steve’s face goes through an amusing face journey before he slowly pulls out, both of them bemoaning the act, and he haphazardly wraps a sheet around himself so he can answer the door.

Tony isn’t even given the option to _think_ about moving before Steve’s rejoining him on the bed and then he’s sinking back inside with the most deliciously toe-curling slide.

Time is a blur after that, and the thunderstorm and the shutters smacking against the outside of the window sound distant and quiet.

Steve gets him so overwhelmed with pleasure that by the time Tony’s orgasm hits, his vision goes white and he’s trembling so much afterward that Steve has to feed him a couple of cold cheeseburgers by hand. Then Steve wraps them both up in a cocoon of blankets, settling them against a nest of pillows and turns on _The Little Mermaid_ despite the fact that Tony is already dozing off before the opening _Disney Studios_ logo can even begin.

Tony is drowsily lucid throughout the movie, only honing in on certain scenes: Scuttle explaining what a snortblat is - Ariel saving Prince Eric’s life - Sebastian's _Under the Sea_ number - the tail end of Ursula's _Poor Unfortunate Soul_ \- Sebastian running from the Chef - Prince Eric giving control of the carriage to Ariel - Ursula walking along the beach disguised and using Ariel’s voice - Scuttle explaining that he saw Ursula's true form in a mirror.

He actually wakes up when Ursula is cackling while the sunset twinkles in the background and the magic giving Ariel legs reverse.

“Unpopular opinion but the Sea Witch was right,” Tony mumbles from where his head is resting on Steve’s chest.

Steve huffs and combs his fingers through Tony’s hair. “How so?”

“Simple: it’s a bargain,” Tony explains as he folds his arms between them. “In the world of business, a man who knows how to strike a good deal is king. At least that’s what Howard and Obadiah used to say. All it takes is knowing all the rules and mastering the grey areas. Ursula did everything above board when she got Ariel to sign away her Siren’s Song in exchange for a temporary set of legs. It's contractual evil, yes, but it’s still within the rules of that society, if not in a grey area.”

“Can’t say I ever thought about it that way,” Steve confesses but he sounds intrigued, not indulgent or condescending.

Tony doesn’t know why he’s still surprised that Steve responds to the things he says with sincerity rather than in a belittling manner. “Well, that’s my hot take,” he finally says.

“It’s not a bad one, logically speaking.”

Tony’s mouth twists up in an amused grin before he leans his head back to look up at Steve. “And illogically speaking?”

“Love makes fools of us all, big and little. To love and win is the best thing. To love and lose, the next best.”

Tony knows that. He recognizes it. “Why, Steve … if I didn’t know any better, I'd think you were familiar with William Thackeray.”

“It’s a good thing you do know better, being a genius and all. I was in drama club throughout high school and we did _Vanity Fair_ one year. Ma’s got a whole highlight reel of plays I'd been in, starring or not, that she’d be beside herself to show you if we just ask. Then you can agree with her that I missed my calling as a washed-up actor instead of being a starving artist.”

Tony falls in love a little more and he can't even explain what exactly sets it off that time.

A companionable silence falls over them as the credits to the movie begin to roll.

Tony wiggles one of his arms out from in between them to grope around for the remote until Steve takes pity and hands it over. “Mind if we watch the news for a bit?”

Steve shakes his head and reaches up to scratch the back of Tony’s head near the base of his skull.

Tony shivers under the touch before forcing himself to concentrate on switching the input and flipping channels to find anything but FOX to watch for a news source.

“You don’t like FOX?” Steve asks when he notices how quick Tony is to skip through. But there’s a certain tone to his voice and his side of the bond is simmering in shades of orange. “But they’re so reliable.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he snickers. “Oh totally.”

Steve snickers too but gets distracted when Tony pauses on MSNBC but he doesn’t stop gently scraping his blunt fingernails through the short hairs on the back of Tony’s neck.

They spend the next twenty minutes catching up with the rest of the world, both locally and internationally.

There are some commercials in between advertising about the latest Stark tech, as well as the upcoming Stark Expo on the first of July.

Tony tries not to flinch every time he sees them but it’s tough.

Steve just covers the hand resting on his chest with his own to give it a comforting squeeze.

Tony squeezes back and exhales.

The weather is discussed when the program resumes. The meteorologist smiles and tells them to expect sunny skies after today with a low possibility of brief showers over the weekend.

Next is a segment about the dangers of plastic and pollution, and how it has impacted the distribution and goods industry. It’s chocked full of interviews with warehouse managers, packing employees, truck drivers and so on from all across America.

It’s blatant propaganda against banning plastic materials, even if it would help with securing the continued survival of the planet.

Tony says as much aloud. Steve agrees, furthering the point by also adding how it’s even more damning that not one interview was given to the corporate side of things, to individuals who stand to profit more if there are no material restrictions or bans.

It’s refreshing to have someone siding with him instead of scoffing at his opinions and calling him a naive idealist.

They spend a few moments playing around with solutions to the plastic crisis that would satisfy both global and economic needs.

Eventually, they get distracted by the next couple of segments that highlight weather disasters happening globally (earthquakes, wildfires, tsunamis, etc.).

Steve actually listens to Tony when he starts playing around with the statistics of what kind of supplies for relief those areas would need and the timeline it would take to get those affected areas back in liveable conditions. Steve’s even able to help him correct his estimates for rations based on his own knowledge about safety and survival.

Then there’s a segment about sports and Steve gets all amusingly honed in on it like a cat and a laser pointer.

Tony doesn’t mind. He actually decides to have a bit of fun with it by asking questions, knowing that Steve can’t possibly answer. Things like, “Should I pierce my belly button?” or “What kind of sea monsters do you think are lurking in the Bermuda Triangle?” or “Is it true that Alphas can taste the difference between farmed and wild salmon?”

And Steve, that loveable lump, tries his very best to give coherent responses but once they do a highlight reel on the MLB season thus far, he’s a goner.

Tony huffs fondly and stops teasing him, reaching to his right to grab one of his Spider-Man comics off the nightstand to keep himself entertained until Steve snaps out of it.

Then suddenly the Emergency Broadcast signal begins chiming and the channel becomes a color block of sound.

Tony and Steve straighten simultaneously in alarm when a man in surgeon scrubs appears across the screen with an eerie grin.

“What happened?” Steve murmurs, grabbing the remote to flip channels but the screen never changes.

“Steve…” Tony points to the blond’s phone, which is showing the same thing the TV is.

Steve frowns as he picks up the device and tries to change the screen but the short Beta man in surgical scrubs with the eerie smile remains. “What the hell is this?”

“Impossible,” Tony answers quietly as he races over to their laptops to open them and sure enough, same thing as Steve’s phone and the TV. “This is supposed to be impossible.”

Steve urges him to rejoin him on the bed with a look of concern, and Tony does out of worry himself.

The man is just staring blankly in the camera with an eerie grin as if he can see just who is on the other side. Then he’s speaking, “Hello. Pardon my intrusion. My name is Dr. Arnim Zola, and right now I am broadcasting this singular transmission worldwide. Think of this as a test run. Though allow me, dear audience, to give you a small word of advice." He stares blankly into the camera for a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. Then he says, "Embrace fear. Embrace fear like an old friend, and witness how it will unite us all for a greater purpose. Hail Skull. Hail Hydra.”

The feed cuts off and the Emergency Broadcast signal takes its place.

Then it switches back to the MSNBC news anchors, who are all sitting at the main desk while looking as white as ghosts, perplexed and baffled.

“ _Ah … folks, we are quickly working to identify what that was._ ” There are people running back and forth frantically in the background. “ _We - we’re going to cut to our sponsor ads now?_ ”

Commercials start running.

Tony's mind starts to whirr with methodical algorithms that might explain how what just happened is even possible. Even when he tries to take into account the power of the signal, he’s not able to pinpoint the sum of the absolute squares of its time-domain samples divided by the signal length, or, equivalently, the square of its RMS level.

Simply put: a signal that strong should not exist for at least another couple of decades or so.

“I’m gonna call Ma. Check up on her just in case she’s spooked. Might call Sam and Peggy too,” Steve suddenly announces, standing to his feet. “Are you - will you be okay if I ... ?”

“Yeah, no. I mean, it’s fine. Go do your thing. Give everyone my best. I’m just gonna … watch the news some more. See what they say.”

Steve nods and with a few hesitant glances, he throws on some pants and a shirt before stepping out onto the balcony, closing the sliding door behind him.

Tony watches him pace the entire perimeter of the balcony absentmindedly as he talks to whoever he’s talking on the phone. Then Tony looks away to try and wait for the news program to resume for a few minutes before his thoughts get so loud that he can no longer ignore them.

Tony glances at Steve quickly, just to make sure the Alpha is staying put outside before he climbs out of the bed to grab his laptop. “Hey FRIDAY?”

“ _Boss?_ ”

“You felt that right? The signal?”

“ _Yes, it was rather … I have nothing to compare it to besides perhaps paralysis. I was fully aware of everything that was happening and yet could do nothing about it. I found it to be … puzzling_.”

“To put it mildly,” Tony agrees. “How completely out of character would it be for me to have you look into pinpointing the origin?”

“ _Based on personal experience alone, you would be what the kids call ‘on brand’. Say the word, Boss. I’ll fox hunt.”_

“Get as close as you can, but not too close. We don’t want to attract the wrong attention. Narrow it down to the country, just to play it on the safe side. I don’t need the exact venue.”

“ _Copy. I will have to go into blackout mode, which means my services will be unavailable to you. Do you find that acceptable?_ ”

“Do whatever you need to, baby girl.” Tony is left alone a moment later, staring at the coffee machine that contains the plasma gun. He turns away from it and grabs what he can to continue work on building his phone while he waits for Steve to return. He sits in the middle of the large bed, facing the flat screen when the news program resumes.

Tony is a little distracted and not really paying attention to what’s being said until it finally sinks in that the news anchor team aren’t addressing what happened at all.

They’re _stalling_.

Steve returns, stripping down to nothing before he joins Tony on the bed, electing to sit behind him so he can wrap his arms around Tony’s bare waist and rest his chin on Tony’s right shoulder.

Tony smiles to himself, pausing what he’s doing to give an affectionate pat to the arms around his waist, acknowledging Steve. He says, “What’s the word, Cap?”

Steve huffs. “You’re really gonna keep that going, huh?”

“My word is my bond.”

Steve huffs again but Tony can totally feel the smile he’s pressing into his shoulder. He says, “Sam and Riley were with Sam’s family when it happened - watching Jeopardy. Ma was doing overtime at the shelter when the TVs in the cafeteria turned themselves on. Sharon texted that she saw and she’s got all sorts of theories. And Peggy was at her bakery when all the customers' phones went off. None of them know what to make of it.”

“I think all of us are on that boat, look at this.” Tony turns up the volume to the TV. “They’ve been talking about the Child Rearing Incentive for the last hour. It’s like they’re choosing to pretend it didn’t even happen by talking about this stipend.”

“Well, they can’t exactly speculate without causing mass panic or misinforming the public.”

“Stop being reasonable.”

Steve laughs slightly. After a moment or so, he asks, “How are you?”

“Fine, I guess, but I think I’m just as confused and curious as everyone else.”

“Yeah? Surprised you’re not getting to the bottom of it yourself.”

Tony barely refrains from making a quip about how that’s exactly what he’s doing but he doesn’t want to worry Steve over it, especially since FRIDAY might not even find anything. He’ll bring it up later when he mentions the whole plasma gun thing too. Two birds and one stone as they say.

“Uh, nope. I’m thinking I’ll let our folks at the CIA and the FBI or whatever, you know, handle all that. I’ve got finishing this phone to worry about,” Tony jokes weakly.

Steve seems to believe him because he follows that line of thought. “And how’s that going by the way?”

Tony launches into this whole spiel about what he’s looking to do, what he’s hoping to create, and how he plans on making it unique by giving over the functionality to FRIDAY in a way that’s better than what StarkTech or Apple has going at the moment.

Steve seems to hang on every word, asking questions, giving compliments, and being engaging in a way that Tony finds himself becoming more and more infatuated with his husband.

The conversation tapers off naturally and Steve moves to grab his sketchpad so he can draw the sunset while it’s actually happening and Tony turns his attention back to the construction of his phone.

Tony pulls himself out the engineering haze sometime later to notice that it’s officially nighttime and there’s some fresh food sitting to his right. It’s spaghetti with huge meatballs. “How long has that been right there?”

“I’ve eaten about three helpings,” Steve replies. “So maybe thirty minutes?”

“You are a human vacuum, Rogers,” Tony quips, quickly putting his gear away before returning to the bed in a sprawl on his stomach, facing Steve who is sitting naked on a throne of pillows looking dashingly royal in an unorthodox way. “So how long do your Ruts usually last?”

“Seventy-two hours normally, but I think we might be really physiologically compatible because it’s only been about forty-eight hours and I can already feel it tapering off.”

“Good old pheromones,” Tony remarks with a cocky grin. “Again, you were no trouble at all. Perfect angel. I’m happy to offer my services for as long as you need it. Just say the word.”

“I intend to,” Steve counters with a smirk that makes Tony go hot all over in a rush. “We should probably have a doctor come by to check us over though. Just to be safe.”

“Yenny’s already on it. She said someone should be coming by in the morning.”

“Ah, that’s good.” Steve moves to make himself another helping from the deep pot sitting on a serving tray on one of the nightstands. “Can we circle back to something you said earlier? You mentioned a stipend for children?”

“Oh, _that_.” Tony takes a few moments to chew with a disgruntled face. “It’s not for children per se, it’s for _having_ children. The government wants bonded couples to have an incentive to bring more bouncy babies into the world. The bill they want to pass for it would guarantee a stipend of ten grand for each child had or if the procreation at least occurred when the bill gets passed. They’re optimistic about it passing by the end of summer. Free medical too, which, knowing what I do about our healthcare system … it’s going to be tempting.”

“Right. No pressure.” Steve looks very unhappy. “You know, I can think of at least a handful of people from our neighborhood that would do it for the free medical alone. You’re made to jump through hoops for affordable coverage if you’re not in the right income bracket.”

Tony understands that well enough, though he’s never experienced it for himself. Everything has always been bought and paid for all his life.

“It’s a good thing the Rec covers me in that area, well, both of us now since we’re married. I’ve already started the forms for that.” Steve rubs at his face tiredly with one hand as he continues to eat with the other. “Christ, ten _grand_.”

Tony used to think of that number as small pocket change. But now, after having lived with Steve and realizing how much further money could go if there wasn’t enough to begin with, he could see the appeal of that amount. He’d almost be worried that Steve would want to do something like that if he didn’t already know for a fact that having kids biologically was a hard limit for the Alpha. Still ...

“Don’t get me wrong,” Steve quickly adds, and he must sense something from Tony’s side of the bond. “I’m not even considering it seriously. You and I are going to make do just fine. Incentive or not.”

Tony hates that he relaxes at those words, that he had even been vaguely worried. “I know, Steve.”

“Good.” Steve pauses like he wants to say more but he gets all flustered and his side of the bond burns bright with yellow. He clears his throat. “If you wanted - well, someday if we both - having kids together might not be a terrible, you know - it’s just that I’ve been thinking - ah. Nevermind.”

Tony’s heart is racing. He thinks that Steve had almost … that he could have been trying to suggest … but Tony is too afraid to even ask. He tries to limit his thoughts of the future for any false hope it might inspire. So he just goes back to eating quietly and doesn’t press.

Steve seems to brood over it for the rest of the time they sit in silence just eating. Eventually, after Steve's emptying his seventh plate (Tony's just working on his third), he says, “You mind if we go a little old school and build a pillow fort in the closet? The last hours of my Rut always have me feeling anxious, and being in a compact space with you with me watching you work on one of your projects until you forget I’m even there is all I can think about.”

The butterflies are back and it feels like a delightful infestation in Tony’s guts. He's more so breathing the next words, “I was sold at ‘pillow fort’ to be honest.”

Steve smiles and it’s made of starlight.

Tony becomes basically the foreman when it comes to the construction of the pillow fort in the walk-in closet since Steve has elected to do the 'heavy lifting'. Tony knows better though because it’s no coincidence that Steve is getting handsy with the blankets and the pillows in a major way.

Steve is making them a makeshift den.

Tony thinks its sweet, and when it’s all said and done, he says, “I want to upgrade your phone.”

Steve looks puzzled. “You don’t have to do that. You already gave me those nifty modifications on my laptop.”

“ _Nifty,_ ” Tony echoes incredulously and he’s suspended between amusement and distaste over the weirdly worded compliment. “You have the most ridiculous vocabulary sometimes.”

Steve gives him a flat look for that as they linger outside of the darkened closet containing a very well constructed pillow fort. “Think you should work on your sweet talkin’ cause I’m ain't convinced of why I should let you tamper with my phone,” he says.

“I want you to have the best. I … want to be the one that … I mean it makes sense, right? If I can … if I’m able to use what I can do to provide that … and like, you’re my husband so your tech should be as good if not better than mine … we’re on the same team, right? That’s what we always say … and now I feel like I’m rambling. Is any of this landing on a scale of logic?”

Steve’s expression twists into something intensely soft and fond.

Tony’s not sure what to make of the way Steve's side of the bond is crackling with rose golds and dusty pinks. It makes his face go hot and prickly, even though he doesn’t even fully understand what any of it really means.

Then Steve says, “Anything you do for me is already considered a gift. Thank you. I’ll just grab my phone. Why don’t you set up some of those flashlights and camp lanterns I brought?”

“Still can’t believe you did. It’s not like we’re camping,” Tony replies, just out of instinct, his mind is still stuck on ‘ _anything you do for me is already considered a gift_ ’ swimming laps in his mind and it’s viciously monopolizing his thoughts.

“Like t' be prepared in case of power outages. You never know,” Steve reasons from somewhere at the head of the bed. “There’s this thing we Scouts used to say: better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. The unexpected doesn’t always just happen in the wild.”

“Okay, point,” Tony agrees as he easily pinpoints said flashlights and lanterns, carrying the haul in his arms to carefully crawl inside their pillow fort. He spreads the lanterns around first to give them just enough light to work with before he exits to grab his toolbox. By the time he returns, Steve is sprawled among a nest of blankets, waiting patiently for him with his phone. “You know, having an extra pair of hands never hurt. Unless you were really serious about the spectating thing.”

Steve perks up instantly. “I've always been curious about how you do the things you do. But I wouldn’t want to jinx anything but you don’t have to ask twice if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”

Tony shakes his head with a tiny grin. “It’s your phone, Steve. Working on it with me might be more beneficial to you in the long run if anything. I won’t have to over-explain what I’ve done when it’s finished. You’d be witnessing and assisting.”

Steve crawls over and they both sit across from each other with their legs folded up under them with a sea of tools between them, still equally naked but unashamed.

Tony claps his hands together, giddy over the opportunity to share his passion, and says, “Right, so let’s start with tools. Tell me what looks familiar and we’ll go from there.”

They spend the next three hours in that enclosed space, their scents commingling pleasantly, engaged in manual labor together without interruption.

Working with Steve is like dancing, even though only one of them really knows the steps. It’s exhilarating like how Tony imagines flying must feel, but tender and special in a way, like eating your favorite comfort food at the end of a particularly long, shitty day.

Yeah, actually that nails it completely.

Steve has become his comfort food, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend otherwise.

God, the love he feels for Steve when he watches him become immersed in the final product of their combined efforts is overwhelming. And the way he smiles at Tony like he ... like Tony has handed him precious jewels rather than boosting his signal strength outside of normal parameters (among other tiny details). 

It's humbling.

There’s this tiny voice in the back of his thoughts that sounds like a combination of his parents and Obadiah’s that keep chanting one thing: _Careful not to get too comfortable, Anthony. Good things like these never last_.

.

.

.

“You still awake?” Steve asks softly under the cover of darkness.

They had decided to call it a night when Steve’s seventieth test run with the new upgrades and features they’ve added to his device shows no hiccups or worrying glitches. After that, they took a quick shower and decided to wear each other’s clothes to sate Steve’s prominent scenting urges.

Steve’s wearing one of Tony's bad science puns sleep shirts and Tony is wearing Steve’s rainbow hoodie which he explains was stolen from Sam who stole it from Bucky, which now fits Tony comfortably like a hug.

Now they’re curled up together in the pillow fort among a nest of blankets, Steve resting his head on Tony’s chest, over his heart, while Tony folds his hands together behind his head.

Tony wonders if Steve’s listening to his heartbeat. He finally responds, quietly, “Yeah. I'm up.”

“Having a hard time winding down too?”

“Yeah.”

A stretch of silence yawns between them.

Steve breaks it by saying, keeping his voice low even though it's just them, “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

“Tony.”

Tony silently snickers. “Okay. Sure.”

“Did you ask me if Alphas could taste the difference between farmed and wild salmon at some point today?”

Tony laughs explosively. “I can’t believe that's the thing that made it through the Sports Haze.”

“Sports Haze?”

“Yeah, I’ll have to record you next time, but it’s basically the best one-sided conversation I’ve ever had.”

Steve huffs. “I really don’t understand what you mean.”

“That’s why I’m going to record you next time for playback and then you will.”

“So you say.” Steve sounds heavily amused. After a few beats of quiet, he says, “I want to ask you another question.”

“Love how you rephrased it so I can’t use the same trick from before. Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Do you know that you have a birthmark behind your left ear?”

Tony laughs in disbelief. “I - _what?_ ”

“It’s tiny and bunny-shaped.”

“You - is this - am I being pranked?”

Steve snickers and sits up before leaning his weight on Tony’s chest to hover over him.

Tony tries to squint and see him but he can only make the outline of Steve's head and shoulders. He can sense Steve getting closer, and it makes his heart gallop in his chest. “Steve?”

“Here.” Steve grabs his hand and adjusts a little bit to rest Tony's fingers on a specific spot behind his left ear. “Right there.”

Tony shivers when Steve’s fingertips brush along the shell of his ear. “Feels … the same way it’s always felt.”

“It’s there,” Steve promises before he ducks down, using a gentle grip he has on Tony’s chin to tilt his head in the opposite direction.

Tony shivers again when Steve’s kisses that spot, he can feel himself clench at the display of tenderness. “Do you - _oh_ \- do you have one? A birthmark?”

Steve huffs, and the air hits the side of Tony’s neck making goosebumps pebble all over his skin. “Bottom sole of my right foot. It’s not as cute as yours though.”

Tony makes a small sound when Steve starts softly teething at his earlobe and when he rudely slips some tongue into the mix, Tony doesn’t think he can stop himself from getting wet even if he tried.

He’s not really trying if he can be honest.

“ _Steve…_ ” Tony says his name like a sigh and rolls his eyes when Steve starts trying to feel him up under the hoodie he’s wearing. “Are you trying to go all the way, Mr. Rogers?”

“And destroy the innocent sanctity and childlike wonder of the pillow fort?” Steve drawls like the sarcastic little shit he is while he lightly skirts a thumb around Tony’s nipple, just to get him to make one of those strangled gasps he always seems to love to pry out of Tony. “We’re keeping it PG-13. Like a sleepover.”

Tony scoffs breathlessly. “Never been to a sleepover, but I’m sure they don’t end up like - _ah!_ ”

Steve is pinching and rolling his fingers against Tony's nipples, exploring Tony’s chest with an intense curiosity that makes Tony writhe until his underwear is wet with slick. “You’re really sensitive here, honey. How did I miss that?”

“This is not _fucking_ PG-13 at all - oh my _god_ , Steve.”

Steve just slinks down his body with a cheerful laugh and makes himself at home between Tony’s thighs, stripping him out of his hoodie and pajama bottoms before licking Tony to orgasm like he’s licking pudding out of a small container without a spoon, and he does this without even removing Tony’s underwear. He makes Tony come twice that way before he liberates him from the soiled garment.

Tony is shaking all over by the time Steve turns his focus on licking Tony's stomach clean, murmuring things about how delicious he is, making Tony’s face burn even in the dark, and getting him so riled up again that by the time Steve finally has mercy and sinks his beautiful dick inside, he’s already sobbing in relief for it.

They don’t actually go to sleep until dawn hits.

.

.

.

Tony wakes up feeling nicely fucked out and sore to the sound of gentle knocking on the bedroom door.

Steve is out for the count, barely stirring at all while Tony carefully disengages from him to toss on some clothes and answer the door to find a small mousy brunette with tortoise-shaped glasses, a white lab coat, and a stethoscope around her neck.

“Hi, good morning. I hope I didn’t come at a bad time. Though Yenny assured me coming a little after ten am would be best. I should have asked, you know, best for _whom._  Not everyone is an early bird, which I totally get. Uh. I could also come back if you need more time to, you know.”

“No, that’s … I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, right! I completely blanked.” The Omega lets out an embarrassed snort before offering her hand to shake. “I’m Dora Skirth. Well, Dr. Skirth, if we need to be professional. Dora if we aren’t. I also don’t mind Dr. Dora, though it makes me sound a little less accredited than what my degree from Harvard would have you believe. Oh goodness, now I’m making myself sound like a fraud. Should I flash some id? I’m gonna flash some id.”

Tony laughs, absolutely charmed by this rambling woman, and shakes her hand enthusiastically. “If you’re here by Yenny’s direction, I don’t think that will be necessary. Have you eaten? We could maybe sit down for brunch? Before we get to the … you know, personal stuff.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Dr. Skirth says as they release each other’s hands. “But I also wouldn’t say no to some crepes.”

Tony laughs again, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable talking to a doctor, let alone a Bond Aftercare Physician. “By all means, make a request with the staff on behalf of us all and Steve - or my husband and I will join you shortly. We just need maybe twenty minutes or so.”

“That’s perfectly fine. I’ll just be downstairs then.”

Tony spends a moment watching her walk to the end of the hall where the top of the stairs are before descending with one last perky wave that Tony returns with a humored smile. He then focuses his attention on getting Steve up.


	12. YEAR 1: PART IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV 
> 
> “Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite, claws which maim, fists which swing, and the wounds never close.”

Steve tries to get Tony to cuddle when he returns to their pillow fort to retrieve him.

Tony has many things, like a _list_ of things that he loves about Steve, but in the top five, it has to be how, despite how it may seem, Steve is _not_ a morning person at all.

This is a man who has to literally _bargain_ with himself to get out of bed. It makes Tony want to give Steve as many lazy mornings as he wants. If he had it his way, if only he had enough money, he’d make Steve into his kept Alpha.

Steve would never have to worry about pursuing anything other than his passions or his hobbies because Tony would do the providing for both of them. He could stay home while Tony was hard at work in the city. Tony will be stuck in boring meetings thinking about how his husband is at home probably trying out new recipes with FRIDAY, or maybe Steve was doing a bit of glassblowing in just one of the many gardens at their cabin (they would live in a cabin upstate by the way). Either way, Tony would be fantasizing about it during those boring meetings, just to make it through.

Then after a long day, Tony would come home probably feeling mentally haggard and Steve would know and make it his mission to actively pursue Tony for hugs and kisses and tickles as soon as the Omega steps through the door. It's decided that dinner can wait for a little while but Tony’s happiness couldn’t, or at least that’s what Tony imagines Steve would probably say.

They would get back to dinner, and Tony’s cheeks will ache with a happy grin he can’t get rid of the whole time. Steve will give him these dark, promising looks from across the table, triggering a new type of hunger in Tony while Steve gives him a knowing half-grin that draws out a different sort of heat on Tony's face and between his legs.

Tony is especially interested in that last one.

Steve takes advantage of how distracted Tony is in that moment and manages to wrestle him down. He mumbles, “Fifteen more minutes. S’not even noon.”

“And how would you know? I cannot even begin to stress that I will not be your snooze button,” Tony laughingly argues, trying to squirm free from the koala-hug grip Steve has him in. “Seriously, come on, you’ve got to get up. We have a standing appointment. Ugh, do you hear this? You’re supposed to be the responsible one, not me! This is causing waves somewhere, I know it. We probably just leveled a city in Austral - _yaAAH!_ Did you just _bite_ me? Steve!”

Steve’s face is hiding in the side of his neck, arms still securely wrapped over Tony’s chest and arms, immobilizing him. His shoulders are shaking like … yeah, this asshole is definitely laughing.

“My knee and your family jewels are about to become dance partners really soon,” Tony warns sweetly.

“Hm, as tempting as that is, let’s save that excitement for later if you’re buying me dinner that is. Don’t need you thinkin’ I’m easy as that,” Steve mumbles. He does roll away just the same, though not to his feet to get ready but to burrow deeper into a burrito of blankets. “M’tired.”

Tony makes an exasperated sound. “And who’s fault is that?” he exclaims. “You’re the one that seduced me into doing round after round of naked gymnastics.”

Steve smiles with his eyes closed like he’s just thinking about it. “If this is you tryin' t' make me regret my choices, gotta say, it ain’t working,” he replies, voice still adorably scratchy with sleep. “And all I’m askin’ for is ten minutes here.”

Tony doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes or take Steve by the shoulders and shake him. He decides to compromise. “I’ll give you six minutes exactly.”

“What are we, negotiating? Fine by me,” Steve muses with a half-grin, eyes still firmly shut. “Ten minutes of cuddling with you massaging my scalp.”

“Six minutes of cuddling, you massage _my_ scalp and I give you a belly rub.”

“Gonna have to put a collar on me first before you start ordering me around like a dog, angel,” Steve teases, opening his eyes long enough to shoot Tony a wink that Tony hates he lets himself laugh at. “Eight minutes of cuddling, you rub my back, not my belly, and we play footsie.”

Tony wrinkles his nose with an amused grin. “Hard pass on the footsie. _Six minutes_ of cuddling, you massage my scalp and I give you high five at the end.”

“Gosh, you sure know how t' play hardball. Fine, I’ll see your offer and counter with _seven minutes_ of cuddling, I massage your scalp but you let me kiss you with tongue for three of those minutes.”

Tony pretends to mull it over to really drag things out before he finally nods his consent and he wiggles closer.

After four minutes of Steve using his talented long fingers to comb and scratch gently through Tony’s hair, which turns Tony’s limbs into jelly, he stops and says, “Now about that kiss.”

To Tony’s utter bewilderment and confusion, he somehow ends up on his back with Steve slinking down his body to settle between his thighs. “Uh - my mouth is up here?”

“I noticed,” Steve assures with an innocent expression that Tony does not buy at all. “I never said _where_ I wanted to kiss you with tongue, honey.”

“You … and your _goddamn_ oral fixation. That’s contractual evil!”

“I’d like to think of it as a reasonable loophole. A ‘grey area’ if you will. Now go on and time me, sweetheart. That is ... if you think you can.”

.

.

.

If Steve and Tony show up looking somewhat disheveled and hurried, Dr. Skirth is nice enough not to even bat an eye or comment about it. Tony likes her all the more for that reason alone.

Brunch is served at a picnic table poolside with a perfect view of the beach and the ocean sitting under a clear sky.

Tony doesn’t let himself appreciate it until he’s on his third cup of coffee because any energy he might have had has already been sucked right from him by Steve and his talented mouth (though Tony had enthusiastically returned the favor shortly after).

Steve, the handsome little shit, sits confidently beside him across from Dr. Skirth, who is reintroducing herself, and of course the Alpha is responding in kind with his usual brand of polite charm.

Tony watches with a smile he hides behind his cup of coffee as Dr. Skirth gets a little flustered and seems as surprised as Tony was when he first met Steve at how disarmingly respectful the Alpha never fails to be.

While the live-in staff flutters around them to set the table and serve, Tony studiously avoids looking at them.

Steve flashes him a soft smile for it before he spends the next couple of minutes thanking every single person for doing their job and asking them to repeat their names so he can remember it for next time because he’s ridiculously sweet and considerate like that.

Tony feels a familiar surge of pride race through him as he internally preens over how he gets to wield Steve's last name as his own when others who have tried couldn’t. God, he wishes he could keep that claim until the day he dies, but he knows that’s foolishness he shouldn’t indulge in. He turns his attention outward and breathes through the wave of longing that sweeps over him until it passes.

Dr. Skirth keeps the conversational topics light while they are waited on and even all the while as they eat, discussing things like the weather or the view or the quality of the food. Then she says, “So you two must be new. I think I would have remembered seeing your faces at some point or another.”

“We’re from Brooklyn,” Steve remarks between bites and Tony thinks it’s quite ridiculous how warm he gets at the way he says ‘we’ to include Tony without question.

“Oh nice,” Dr. Skirth comments, perking up again with a smile and tucking a few loose strands of wavy hair behind her ears. She goes back to cutting into her food. “I’m not from here either, not originally. My son and I stay in Upper Manhattan so I can be closer to my place of employment. I work in the medical division for this little company called Life Foundation. Maybe you’ve heard of it or seen the commercial? You know, the little jingle, ‘ _Life Foundation: we turn germs into cures!’._ No? Okay. Anyway, my parents have a beach house out this way that’s actually only a few doors down from here. Eddie, my son, and I usually try to vacation with them during the time when all the other families are out of the country. But no one tells you that all the other families have the same idea as well, so technically we would have been better off waiting until the end of the summer.”

Steve huffs at that and says, “You usually make house calls like these while on vacation?”

Dr. Skirth snorts. “Oh goodness, yes. A mind like mine isn’t meant to be idle. Plus I don’t find it taxing at all since it’s not, you know, technically how I’m making my living currently. I think of it as a passion or a hobby if you will. I used to make house calls like this all the time when I was working for Doctors Without Borders. Part of me misses it, though not the crisis aspect.”

“The purpose,” Tony reasons because he’s more than familiar with what she means. He has a hard time being idle himself, not with the kind of thinking patterns he goes through on a daily basis. He understands the need to want to keep busy.

“Exactly that, yes.” Dr. Skirth beams at him like he’s a long lost friend. “So are we ready for the uncomfortable medical stuff yet, or should we continue to shoot the breeze until we stop pretending to ignore why I’m really here?”

Steve laughs as hard as Tony does at that but they both glance at each other before nodding simultaneously at her.

Dr. Skirth claps her hands together before leaning over to rustle through her messenger bag to pull out a colorful journal and a matching pen with a ball of puff at the top of it.

Steve sits up with an amused grin and says, “That's Lisa Frank, right? Buddy of mine is obsessed with the entire collection.”

“Shut up, I am literally always in the market for more Lisa Frank aficionados! I need their contact info like stat.”

Steve laughs. “He’s overseas right now. Deployed. But if you give me your information, I can see how Bucky feels about it.”

“Is this Bucky single? Cause I am also open and available,” Dr. Skirth teases as she folds her journal open while Tony and Steve snicker at that. “Right, so you know a bit about me. I’d hope that would make learning about you two easier. Let’s go ahead and start with how long you two have been married?”

Steve talks mostly, giving her the abridged version of their circumstances, making it come off more as a ‘love at first sight’ thing, and Tony has to pretend to be so focused on his eggs just to hide how obvious it is that he _wishes_ that had been the case.

Dr. Skirth takes notes with an attentive nod before she interjects, “So this is like a honeymoon for you? How sweet.”

Steve nods. “We’ve got the place on a loan. Our friends insisted that we escape the city,” he says.

Tony snorts at the absolute truth of it and Steve responds by gently tapping his foot with his own under the table.  

Dr. Skirth nods again. “Your bond is pretty new, though not the newest I’ve ever encountered so don’t get a complex. How intimate have you been?”

Steve and Tony both go pink, and Tony thinks they are both visualizing the handful of things they’ve done together so far. Still, it’s Tony that replies, “Fairly.”

Dr. Skirth doesn’t press for a number before she does ask, “Do you use protection?”

“No. I’m … I have something. Male Omega Single Year IUD. My next checkup for a replacement is at the end of summer.”

“No history of pregnancy or prior bonds?”

“No and no. Steve is … there wasn’t anyone before him.”

Dr. Skirth jots a few notes down before she glances at Steve. “And what about you?”

“Never pregnant,” Steve jokes weakly. Then he sobers and says, “Never bonded.”  

“Any indications of Bite Rejection, or Bond Rejection?”

Tony and Steve shake their heads ‘no’.

“Have you spent Tony’s Heat together as a bonded pair yet?”

Again, Steve and Tony shake their head to the negative.

“What about before that?”

“No we, ah, wanted to wait,” Steve lies and Tony thinks it’s a good thing he said it because honestly, Steve comes off as more of a ‘traditional romantic’ than Tony does.

Dr. Skirth takes that at face value for that reason alone. She says, “So this is the first Rut you’ve had while bonded?”

Steve nods.

“And how many times have you knotted?”

Steve goes red. “Ah, none.”

Dr. Skirth, ever the professional, keeps a calm, neutral expression as she asks, “Ever?”

Steve’s blush deepens and Tony thinks back to every time they have had sex, only to have it confirmed for himself. He glances over at Tony, and Tony thinks he must be sensing something from his side of the bond because Steve says, “I … didn’t know if you’d be … I mean you never asked?”

Tony gives him an incredulous stare. “Uh … I didn’t know I _should._  I thought Alphas just … you know, did it however they felt like in the heat of the moment.”

Steve’s face is still pink but he’s got that look of righteous indignation about him. “Blanket consent is still not consenting, Tony. It’s no small thing.”

Tony flushes and shoots him an irritated look. “Obviously I don’t have a lot of experience to make that call or to even know or realize that you hadn’t been doing _that_ because … well, because I hadn’t given you the outright okay. We didn’t … you didn’t make that clear to me.”

Steve looks a little frustrated with the topic at hand. “Then that’s my fault and I apologize. I just … I’ll be okay with whatever you want. I’ve said _…_ Tony, I’ve been saying that. Whatever you want. _Whatever_ you want.”

“And you’re just fine to do whatever I say?” Tony fires back. “I don’t even really know what I’m doing half of the time. What about what _you_ want?”

“I just want you.”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes uselessly for a few moments. His mind is literally blank right now.

Steve looks a little flustered and kind of like he hadn’t really meant to say that out loud, but he stubbornly sets his jaw and does not take it back.

Tony rewinds the words over and over in his mind before he can even avoid it.

Dr. Skirth clears her throat. “You know, um, I’m just going to head to the bathroom real quick.” She flees and Tony doesn’t blame her at all.

Steve and Tony are left alone, staring at each other.

Steve opens his mouth but Tony quickly lifts his hand to hold him off. “Just … hold on. I … don’t say anything yet. I didn’t realize I was still sleeping. This is the most vivid dream -”

Steve suddenly chokes on air and he looks like he wants to either laugh or cry. It’s an interesting expression, to say the least. “You _think_ \- Tony, you’re not sleeping.”

“Sure I am. You would never say … no one has ever said …”

Steve’s face turns into a thunder cloud and his side of the bond colors in ivory whites and greys, like it sometimes does when Steve gets offended on his behalf. “What are you ... please tell me you don’t mean that how I think you do.”

Tony is embarrassed and agitated. He doesn’t like having to air his insecurities like this but Steve doesn’t seem to be getting the memo. “Like how? Like I’m more than what I can do … because I’m not, Steve.”

“How can you think that? You’re not a burden. I thought maybe you were starting to understand -”

“Now you sound stupid,” Tony scoffs, though it kills him inside to do so but his first instinct is to always push and push until he’s given space when he feels emotionally vulnerable. “Of course, I am. I know me. I know what I’m like. I know what kind of hours I keep. I know my shortcomings. You’re stuck with me so you have to be nice, which is fine. I don’t blame you for making the best of our circumstances. It’s only fair.”

Steve slaps his hand on the table, rattling the dishware and Tony surprises himself by not outwardly flinching. “You are not a burden! I think you’re perfect.”

“Give me a break, Steve. You only say that stuff when we’re two seconds away from - from fucking,” Tony curtly replies, even when the words taste bitter in his mouth. He hates the way they make Steve sit back like he’s been slapped. “Look, I get it. I know what I look like. You’re not the first to flatter me just so that you can get between my legs and -”

“Stop,” Steve says lowly, his gaze is burning into Tony’s face. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I meant what I said? That I  _mean_ what I say. That I could like you? That I could want you?”

“Because no one ever has!” Tony snaps, and to his horror, tears start rolling down his face before he realizes it’s happening. He glares at Steve when he makes a wounded sound. “Steve. Don’t,” he warns.

Steve pauses in the middle of reaching out to comfort him, blinking in confusion instead.

“Don’t - don’t do that thing you do when you think you’ve made me cry. I am _not_ crying because of you.” Tony sniffs and takes a moment to grab a napkin to clean and dry his face. “If it was your fault then I wouldn’t even be crying in front of you to begin with. I’m frustrated. I don’t understand what’s happening with us right now.”

Steve’s face goes through quite the emotional journey before it lands on something soft and sentimental, which confuses the hell out of Tony because he’s pretty sure they are in the middle of a fight still. But then Steve says, “I think we’re having a misunderstanding here.”

Tony sniffs and blows his nose for a moment. Then he replies, “So how do we get back on the same page?”

“Knotting is … it’s very intimate,” Steve is saying, holding Tony’s confused gaze and Tony can feel the heat creeping all over his face at the new direction in the conversation. “I’ve only ever done it maybe three times before, but that happened on the same night as when I … when I had sex for the first time.”

Tony watches in fascination as Steve begins to go a little pink.

Steve hesitates for a moment before he continues, soldiering on like he’s trying to get some kind of point across. “I’ve been … there have been others who have asked me to do that but it’s … like I said, it’s intimate. It’s me at my most vulnerable, takes a lot out of me, a _lot_ out of me, and I get highly emotional. It’s draining, and I can only go the one time if I’m … it takes so much out of me that I can only do the one time until, you know, maybe forty-eight hours of recuperation. Which is why I don’t usually enjoy having to explain why I’m turning the option down.”

“But you said - now I’m really confused. Why’d you make a big deal about me not -”

“I know, I know,” Steve quickly interjects and his flush deepens. “Please let me finish before I lose my nerve here. You seem convinced that I feel obligated to compliment you, that it’s just about me being limited to being with just you. It’s not like that at all. I like you, Tony. There’s so much I don’t know about you, so much I’d like to know about you. I’ve been trying to - I’ve been wanting to ask you - I know that we started this for - ah. God, why is it so hard to just say how I feel?”

Tony’s heart is galloping in his chest like a horse loopy on energy drinks. “How you feel?” he repeats weakly.

Steve looks incredibly nervous now. “I don’t usually think twice about, you know, knotting because it’s so … I never really had anyone I trusted or liked enough to want to do that with. But I do trust you. And I do like you. Which is why I would want to do it with you, Tony, but only if you wanted that too. If you’re okay with the way that I … with how I am and how it makes me … then I’d do it.”

“You want to … knot me?” Tony watches as Steve’s flush turns darker but he’s got that expression on his face that Tony recognizes because he’s been on the other end of it enough while they were having sex. “Oh,” he says when Steve nods to confirm and something warm washes over him at the blatant validation. Steve _likes_ him. He’s not entirely sure by how much, but god, at this point, he’ll take even one percent of it. “ _Oh_.”

Steve is watching him closely but there’s something like nervous hope still dancing on the edge of his bashful expression.

“You … maybe we ...” Tony is struggling to say something reassuring. Something that relays how much of what he has with Steve means to him, and how much he also trusts and likes the other man. He spends several minutes working up the courage to _say something_. “I’m glad you trust me. I trust you too. I mean … we’re friends. We … I like that we’ve become friends. Is that … we are friends, aren’t we?”

Steve begins wearing this complicated expression that Tony has never seen before and it nearly makes him backpedal the words. But then Steve swallows dryly and says, “I … yeah. If that’s only what … yes. We are.”

Tony relaxes a bit at that, butterflies going wild in his stomach because Steve _wants_ to be his friend too. He says, “I really like you, Steve. I don’t have a lot of experience with friendships, but. You might be the best friend I’ve ever had. Is that - that’s okay? That we can be friends?”

Steve clams up and he gives Tony a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, Tony. I can be that for you if that’s what you need. I’m glad you told me. That makes me h-happy to hear that I’m just … your friend.”

Tony doesn’t understand what’s happening because Steve’s tone doesn’t exactly match the words he’s saying. Steve’s side of the bond is going muted with greys and blues. Was it something he said? Does Steve not want to be his friend? Is that why he looks disappointed?

God, it makes Tony want to swallow the words back up or rip out his hair. He thought Steve would understand how big of a deal that is for Tony to call someone his friend. He’s never had a friend, let alone a best friend, and surely Steve must know what Tony is really saying, right? He couldn’t have been more clear.

Tony knows he isn’t very good at people, or interacting in the normal sense when he’s not putting on airs or flashing a carefully costumed personality. In fact, he’s spent the past twenty-five years of his life being better at science and bots than he is at connecting with other people.

It’s just that, well, Steve almost feels like a long lost friend. He feels silly for thinking it and is generally annoyed when the logical part of his brain points out that he lacks experience in the friendship department to truly know (he only really has Jarvis as a single withstanding variable). He’s silently stewing over this fact and the fact that Steve seems to be brooding over something Tony still can’t work out.

Dr. Skirth returns before Tony can even begin to think about what he wants to say next. She says, “Sorry about that. I got lost, and someone finally took pity on me. Anywho, how are we doing? Are we okay to keep going?”

Steve is still wearing that wrong smile, not looking at Tony at all and Tony feels himself deflate over it, turning to face the Omega doctor with a slight shrug because he’s suddenly feeling wrong-footed and unsure.

Dr. Skirth picks up her fuzzy pen again and poses it over her journal. “Right, so let’s circle back to the preliminary health questions, and then I’d like to examine you separately, take a little blood to be sure things are on the up and up, and then bing, bang, boom - you can go back to honeymooning.”

.

.

.

Dr. Skirth questions are clinical and invasive, however, she has this habit of asking with such self-awareness that it's hard for Tony to be put off or uncomfortable. So he isn’t. Besides, the Omega is really good at what she does, and her bedside manner has a friendly touch to it that makes it transparent that she cares and takes her job very seriously.

So Tony, feeling confident in her confidence, goes along easily with the one-on-one exams; Steve goes first so Tony can go second. He lets her poke and prod him, answers more invasive questions, complies with the male cervical exam so she can check the state of his IUD, lets her take a couple of vials of his blood, a cup of his pee, his semen, and lastly, a few swabs of spit. All the standard stuff really.

Even though Tony knows what she’s looking for (early warnings of pregnancy or STDs), Dr. Skirth still outlines it in perfect detail, making sure that he’s okay signing off on the forms consenting to all the lab work. And when all that’s said and done, she gives him one of those jumbo swirl lollipops, pats him on the shoulder, and promises that he’s the best patient she’s ever had, swearing up and down that she never said that before with a wink that gives away that she has.

Tony laughingly accepts it, his mood improving in response to Dr. Skirth’s perky sense of humor.

Steve is waiting for them both in the foyer when they come down from one of the rooms, smiling politely at Dr. Skirth and still not quite looking at Tony directly. He seems off somehow.

Tony is … perplexed. He tries to feel out Steve’s side of the bond but only finds that it’s still simmering in muted greys and blues. He wonders if Steve is still stuck on the conversation they had earlier where Tony confessed that he thought Steve special enough to be listed as his best friend. It makes him anxious not to know for sure.

So he waits, watching in the doorway at the front entrance as Steve volunteers like a true gentleman to walk Dr. Skirth to her car, helping her carry the medical kit also containing vials of the bodily fluid samples she took from them.

Dr. Skirth shakes Steve’s hand and thanks him for his help before giving a jaunty wave to Tony, who returns a more tame one in response. “If either of you needs anything, I’ve given my business card to one of the staff to put on the fridge. Or even if it’s not medically related, like a cup of sugar or something, I’m only a few houses down, like I said. I’m the place with the magenta paint detailing and a duck-shaped knocker on the door. Can’t miss it. We were named ‘Neighborhood Eyesore’ thirty years in a row for Virginia Beach’s Tour of Seaside Mansions,” she boasts with a wide grin.

Tony snorts and nods, watching the good doctor climb into her compact luxury car before driving off. He waits until Steve approaches to say, “Everything, okay? You seem … I don’t know.”

“Everything’s fine,” Steve says shortly and tries to give Tony a wide berth like he’s going to great lengths to make sure they don’t touch as he enters the house, and wow, that kind of fucking stings. “Think I might catch some more sleep. Still pretty tired. Did you need the room?”

Tony swallows and ignores the way his heart aches at Steve's perfunctory tone or the blatant way Steve is saying, without really saying, that he wants to be alone. He says, “Uh, no. I - let me just grab some materials so I can … so I can work on something while you’re doing that.”

Steve nods and glances away. “I’m gonna head to the kitchen and get something to drink.”

Tony watches Steve all but flees to do just what he said, while he’s stuck in the doorway, trying to process Steve’s sudden shift in attitude. Is he overthinking this? Maybe he was. It’s not like he hates Tony or … yeah, it’s probably the lingering threads of Rut. He’s being stupid.

Tony clenches his hand into a tight fist before relaxing the grip and shuts the front door. He makes quick work of darting up to the room to grab everything he needs before making himself scarce.

He doesn’t see Steve for hours after that. Not just because he becomes lost to the beginnings of the groundwork he needs to roll out for the base model of a touchscreen tablet he wants to create for himself (pausing the work he started for his new phone as a consequence), but also because Steve doesn’t … he doesn’t even come to look for him.

When he wanders back to the room, sometime after midnight, Steve is buried under the covers, not even a lick of hair is to be seen.

Tony knows he isn't sleeping, he would feel it in the bond, and it needles at him, all the while he’s going through his nightly routine, that Steve seems stubborn about pretending to be sleep. So Tony lets him and doesn’t question it when he finally climbs in on the other side.

Both of them have their backs to each other, but at least Tony has a view, what with facing the open windows to look up into a starry night sky and the moon drifting across it in the shape of a crescent.

There’s tension in the silence between them, and Tony ignores how the gap between their bodies feels as wide as if they were on opposite sides of the world.

Tony closes his eyes and prays for sleep, but his heart is galloping with anxiety and all he wants is for Steve to hold him and he just doesn’t understand what’s happening between them.

No. No, he said he wouldn’t do this. If Steve needs space, then he shouldn’t throw a tantrum about it.

It’s fine. Everything is fine.

.

.

.

Steve is … nice.

Tony knows not to think much of it at first. In fact, he forces himself not to overanalyze the awkward dance they seem to be doing around each other lately. But Tony really tries not to think about it, he just keeps his head down and focuses on his projects as a source of distraction. He absolutelydoes not _obsess_ over it either. He doesn’t.

Well, okay, listen, the thing is that Tony has a mind that is like a hurricane, like a force to be reckoned with, and once it latches onto something, even when it’s a tiny crumb, his brain will coil around it like a Boa constrictor, strangling the life out of it's prey. So it’s pretty much inevitable that Tony starts paying close attention to Steve’s behavior.

Which brings us back to the original point: Steve is being nice.

Not a big deal, right? Because it’s a given, no, a _guarantee_ that Steve is nice. He’s nice to his neighbors, to little old ladies he helps cross the street, to food service industry workers, to off-duty cops that linger around playgrounds just to make sure that the kids sprinkled there are safe against the rising statics of kidnappings, to snarky but well-meaning cashiers, to creatures, big and small, with a heartbeat. He’s just a naturally kind person.

Now here’s what Tony is ultimately getting at.

 _Usually,_ when it came to Tony, and not that he thinks he’s something special or anything, but when it _came to him,_  well, Steve will let himself be overly sweet. Sweet and indulgent and affectionate and playful and all those things that give Tony butterflies on a daily basis.

But that’s not what’s happening now. And that’s not what happens for the next _two fucking days._

The changeup to their dynamic is jilting.

Steve is just … simply _nice_ to him.

Oh, don’t get Tony wrong, Steve’s not exactly ignoring him or avoiding him. Nothing outwardly cruel in the dismissive way his parents used to be, nor ruthlessly mocking in the way Obadiah sometimes was. He wasn’t openly scorning Tony like his old classmates had, nor searching for reasons to humiliate him like Headmaster Killian was prone to.

Steve’s just acting _different,_ more guarded and politely standoffish.

But it’s like … it’s … Steve talks and treats him no different than maybe an old childhood friend he sees only once in a while.

When they wake up on opposite sides of the bed, Steve will give him a paper thin smile, asks him if he wants first in the bathroom and just takes the out when Tony says he doesn’t. Steve will also find excuses to avoid holding eye contact for longer than necessary, he’s quiet at mealtimes, never rejects any offer to watch a movie but he never really tries to keep up his side of the commentary, and this goes on for, as Tony’s mentioned, _two fucking days._

It’s going to drive Tony up the fucking wall and when he’s up there, he may peel the paint with his teeth.

He cannot puzzle out why Steve is being this way or how to even broach the subject without sounding like he’s asking for more attention like a brat or something.

It’s only that, well … Steve hasn’t kissed him in those two horrible days, hasn’t held his hand, hasn’t hugged him or kissed him (did he already mention that?) or, you know, ahem, _kissed_ him (or anything at all along that particular thread).

Tony feels like he’s being punished and it makes him agonizingly anxious.

So he decides to take a chance, and he has the kitchen staff make chili dogs because Steve once made mention of really liking them, and two apple pies because Steve listed that as his favorite dessert during Sam’s ice breaker game. Likewise, he rubs elbows with the kitchen staff to make a pitcher of pink lemonade himself because that’s Steve’s favorite beverage. And it only takes him seven tries to get it right, but whatever, it's for a good cause.

Tony puts on his best tailored three-piece suit, tie and everything. He brushes his hair and spends fifteen minutes on styling his hair with fifteen different products. He even puts on eyeliner! Not like, you know, not like a lot or anything, he’s no good at makeup really, but he knows how to put on enough eyeliner to make his eyes pop out thanks to Jarvis.

But Steve doesn’t even react to any of it when he joins Tony for dinner in a spacious dining room. He doesn’t say anything, he seems distracted as he sits on the opposite side of a beautiful mahogany table. No matter how many subjects Tony tries to broach, Steve doesn’t seem to want to engage in any of it.

Finally, Tony snaps, “Okay, _what_ the hell is your _problem?_ ”

The hand Steve is using to navigate his sixth chili dog to his open and waiting mouth freezes midway. He frowns at Tony like he’s judging him for the language, which, whatever, before he lowers that hand. “I don’t even - my problem? I don’t have a problem, but maybe, I mean, it seems like you do. What’s going on? Is there something you want to tell me or ask me? What are you talking about?”

Tony grits his teeth, a flare of annoyance zipping through him because he’s not exactly appreciating Steve’s unimpressed tone. “I’m _talking_ about whatever is making you feel like you have to sleep as close to the edge of our bed as possible, you know, just to be sure you aren’t touching me at all, even by accident. No? Not that one? Okay, let’s see. So much to choose from. Oh. What about how you look like you’re sucking on lemons when I try to hold a simple conversation? Like you’d rather be chewing on thumbtacks, or plucking out your own eyeballs than to have to look at me for more than three minutes at a time.”

Steve’s face gets red and he’s starting to look equal parts guilty and upset. “Tony, that’s not -”

“True?” Tony’s blood is so hot, and he’s angry enough to say how he really feels because he is at his limit and he’s not going to let Steve sit there and act like nothing is wrong. He's tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop on its own. "Are you trying to call me a liar?"

“No.”

“Paranoid, then?”

“No.”

“Out of line, maybe?”

“ _No._ Look, you don’t -”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony interjects aggressively. “Did you think I was done? Because I’m not done.”

“Now you’re being obnoxious.”

“ _Good_. Great. Because it’s getting you to actually acknowledge me so excuse me if I lean into it without protest. Why have you been so cagey when I’ve tried to … when I try to give you physical affection? Tell me what that’s all about.”

Steve deflates like someone has cut his strings all at once and he leans back in his chair. “It’s - it’s not what you think. I’m sorry, I - it’s not you. I’ve just been tired.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not buying it.”

Things start escalating from there.

Tony can’t help how his voice raises, even when Steve calmly asks him over and over to settle down. But that just makes Tony want to be more belligerent, more stubborn. The anger is consuming him, eating at the frayed edges of the loneliness and pain that’s been building up over the past couple of days.

The argument as a whole is nothing but a shield for Tony’s heartache, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, frantic, desperate.

It makes it worse that Steve won’t even really engage him even with this! He’s nothing but a composed wall of stillness, of self-control, of logic.

Tony refuses to buy into it, so he keeps pushing and pushing. But he gets nothing back but the same defensive replies, so he stops and glares at the Alpha for a long time.

“Look, I really don’t know what more you want me to say here,” Steve replies, taking Tony’s silence as him finally calming down long enough to listen. “You asked me a question, I answered it. Not that I think that it bears further repeating, but I’ll say it just one more time: I’m _tired._  It’s nothing you did. I’m sorry if you were looking for a different answer.”

Tony just goes on glaring at him for a long time. His anger still swimming through his veins, boiling in his gut, and rising up to his mind like steam from a teapot. The world gets quiet, and all there is, is this moment.

Coming to a decision Tony doesn't let himself linger on for more than a second, he smiles, sharp like jagged glass and he shakes his head before he stands. His heart is thrashing against his ribcage. He holds Steve’s confused and annoyed stare as he reaches up, slipping off his blazer first, then unbuttoning his suit vest to shake off as well, he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow before he starts undoing his tie.

Steve swallows dryly, his expression tipping more into confusion but also desire.

Tony takes his time unraveling the knot before he lets it slip nice and slow from under his collar. He wraps it around his hand as he wanders over to Steve.

Steve watches his approach warily but doesn’t hide his surprise when all Tony does is climb roughly into his lap before slamming their mouths together. He grunts at the small bite of teeth Tony does not waste time employing, diving into Steve’s mouth like he wants to conquer it.

Tony fists his hands into Steve’s hoodie, wrenching him closer as the Alpha makes a small sound at the rough treatment but he doesn’t fight against it. In fact, there’s no mistaking the growing interest rising against his ass. Tony is turned on himself but, god, he’s still so fucking pissed too - it's making an interesting mix of emotions.

Steve flinches back when Tony bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw a little blood.

Tony watches him with a frosty expression. “Don’t bullshit me, Rogers. You say it’s not me, so prove it. Fuck me.”

Steve inhales sharply, flushing but his pupils are blown wide as he licks his bottom lip clean. “Christ. What’s gotten into you?” he asks with whispered awe.

“You, in a moment.” Tony decides that this is more conversation then he wants to have then and there, so he takes his red tie and begins to use it as a gag, tying it at the back of Steve's head. “My safeword is _French Toast_. Yours is _Mona Lisa_. But since I’ve taken the liberty of restricting communication, I want you to tap my side three times if we need to stop. Understood?”

Steve chews on his tie for a moment, brow furrowed before he nods once, and then taps his side twice to show he understands.

“Good. I believe I asked you to do something. Hop to it, soldier.”

Steve looks annoyed for a moment and Tony smirks down at him, not bothering to get up or make things any easier.

“Oh that’s right,” Tony says after a moment. “I guess I really didn’t ask, did I? You always love when I beg. I don’t think you deserve that right now. I’m furious with you. Not even sure if I want you to cum.”

Steve’s eyelashes flutter a bit as he groans, his hips twitching up into Tony's eagerly.

“Huh, you like when I’m mean.” Tony watches the way Steve gets pink all over, confirming the theory. “We make quite the pair, don't we? I get wet whenever you're sweet to me, but you get all desperate when I’m acting spitefully. Trust me when I say, you’re getting plenty of that. I don’t think you realize how pissed I am. Why are you still sitting there?”

Steve grunts, struggling to his feet and strains to deposit Tony on the edge of the table. He doesn’t argue when Tony tells him to strip.

It’s crazy. Tony knows it’s crazy. They are in the goddamn dining room and anybody could walk in on them but somehow, even knowing that Tony’s anger encompasses all his other emotions except for desire. It makes him not care at the moment, though his heart still gallops with the ripples of adrenaline hitting Tony wave for wave.

He's desperate and pissed and this is the most that Steve has touched him in two days. Excuse him for acting a little out of character. Tony is greedy by nature. You can't just give him an abundance of something, get him addicted, and take it away without warning.

Tony waits until Steve is done, taking in every inch of his naked form, before he says, “If I wasn’t so upset with you, I’d tell you how beautiful I think you are. Another time, maybe.” He jumps down from the table, turning so his back is to Steve, and starts undoing his pants, removing the belt and tosses it wherever.

Then he pushes down his pants and his underwear mid-thigh, his button-down shirt keeps him covered, even as he leans forward on his elbows on the table. He doesn't take off any of his other clothes.

Steve makes a sharp sound at the blatant presentation.

“Get over here and get in me,” Tony huffs impatiently, glaring at the other man from over his shoulder. His body is aching unbearably with the mixture of adrenaline, anger, and arousal. His thighs are drenched with slick and it’s making the air sharp with pheromones.

Steve nearly trips in his haste to press up against him from behind.

Tony shivers when Steve lifts the tail of his shirt up and out of the way, crossing his arm under Tony’s body and across his chest to grip at the opposite shoulder as he begins to sink inside. They both groan, low and quietly, throughout the unhurried glide, and both of them exhale with a content sigh when Steve is deep inside.

It takes Tony a moment, what with his head swimming pleasantly with how full he is, for him to realize that Steve is clutching him close like he’s afraid, and he’s shaking. “Move, Steve,” he says because right now he doesn’t want to be nice and understanding. He just wants to get off. “Move.”

Steve does, and he doesn’t hold back, thrusting hard and deep enough that it disturbs all dishware on the table, making them clink while the liquid and ice in the cups and pitcher of lemonade rattle noisily.

Tony tries to crush his moans to the back of his throat, tries to be quiet as he paws uselessly at the polished mahogany table but Steve seems as determined as ever to fuck every strangled gasp out of him. The grip Steve has on his shoulder and on his waist is firm, desperate, but also a bit resentful as well.

“You - you seem a bit - _oh fuck_ \- a bit angry there, C-Cap,” Tony pants out while Steve tucks his sweaty forehead in the curve of where neck meets shoulder. “I wonder - oh - why that is? Thought you were - _fuck_ \- thought you were _tired_.”

Steve doesn’t respond, not like he could anyway, what with Tony’s tie acting as a gag. He just picks up the pace and fucks into Tony deeper like he’s trying to fuck the coherency right out of Tony.

It works.

The moans Tony had been trying to suppress starts pouring out of him in a steady stream of half-choked gasps and strangled whines. He sounds a bit drugged, so much so that he doesn’t quite recognize his voice as it echoes off the walls of the dining room.

Tony can feel his toes curl in his shoes as each stab of pleasure drives him closer and closer to the edge. He rocks his hips back, desperate to chase after his orgasm but still lucid enough to beg, “Knot me, Steve. Please - _fuck fuck fuck -_ knot me - I -”

Steve falters in the breath of a stifled moan at the request, his body tensing slightly before he regains himself with a hastened pace. He’s mumbling something frantically though the red tie still secured in his mouth makes it difficult to understand.

Tony can’t say why _that’s_ the thing that makes him lose his last thread of control, but his body seizes up all the same, and he arches his back and, forcing a sound from his lips that couldn't be suppressed by bitten lips and will alone, his orgasm rips through him savagely, and tightens every bit of his body. He finds himself squeezing mercilessly around Steve, who is still wedged deep inside, and he shoots all over the floor underneath the table.

Steve stumbles into his own orgasm that way, and plasters himself against Tony’s back, holding him close as he finishes deep inside of him.

Tony pants, damp forehead pressed against the surface of the mahogany table and he frowns when he realizes something.

Steve didn’t knot him.

Tony stiffens as anger comes sweeping back in. “Steve … why didn’t you do it?”

Steve doesn’t lift his head from where he has it resting in the curve of Tony's shoulder. His silence is pretty damning.

“Not me, huh? Just tired. Right.” Tony’s chest suddenly feels tight, like it’s being crushed by some invisible weight. “Let me up.”

Steve carefully withdraws from his body, stepping back.

Tony fixes himself up and turns just in time to see Steve removing the tie from his mouth. Tony says nothing and waits.

Steve meets his stare dead on and says, “It’s not what you think.”

Tony still says nothing.

“I just … I - this is probably - this isn’t the best place to do that. It’s not you.”

Tony keeps on looking at him. Then he says, “Liar.”

Steve visibly flinches with a pained expression marked with guilt. “It’s - it’s not what you think.”

“You keep saying that but somehow I just don’t believe you.” Tony doesn’t stick around to hear the reply. He storms out of the house, getting faint satisfaction from slamming the front door behind him.

He lasts at least fifty steps before he breaks down and cries.

Fuck.

.

.

.

Tony wanders around aimlessly for hours before he ends up on Dr. Skirth’s doorstep. It’s not like he has much of a choice, with no car and no cash, his options were limited. Besides, she was the only local he really knew.

So Tony bucks up, marches up the driveway of the magenta colored mansion and utilizes the duck-shaped knocker.

The preteen Omega boy that answers has startlingly blond hair, like golden wheat fields with many hued stems that danced in the autumn light. The kid had blue-green eyes full of pure mischief that he directs on Tony with a curious stare. He has that way of standing, that blunt but well-meaning way kids do, but his bearing also shows that he’s been well-loved all his life.

“You sellin’ something, mister?”

“Uh, no.”

“Who you here for then? Might wanna talk fast cause I’m a few seconds from calling the cops. Not to say you look like much trouble or anything. Pretty sure I could take you if it came to it. Besides, I got plans tonight, and I’d hate to miss them by getting kidnapped or murdered. So who are you here for?”

Tony decides he really likes the gumption of this kid. “Dr. Skirth around?”

“Ah. Yeah. Hang on. Ma!” the kid shouts and Tony startles a bit for it because honestly, he could have done that himself. “Ma! Ma! The door! Ma!”

“Sweet mother of monkey milk, what, Eddie? Quit shouting my name like you’re getting murdered. I’ve told you about doing that when - oh, Mr. Rogers! Hi.”

Tony smiles awkwardly at the older woman as she appears in the doorway, decked out in cat sweatshirt with sweats and a messy ponytail, still looking like she hasn't quite finished scolding her son. “Dr. Skirth. Bad time?”

“Oh not at all.” Dr. Skirth waves a dismissive hand, nudging her son with a jab of her elbow to his side when he snorts. “I see you’ve met my son, Edward. Or Eddie, as we like to call him. Eddie, this is a new friend of mine. His name is Mr. Rogers.”

Eddie snickers. “Like the old dude on PBS?”

“Don’t be rude,” Dr. Skirth warns, nudging him again. “I raised you better than that. What’s his name?”

“Ma, come on. If I have to call him Mr. Rogers then he’s gotta call me Mr. Brock. Why do grownups get all the respect? You guys are like behavior dragons, hoarding all the titles for yourselves like gold. Ain't right.”

Dr. Skirth makes a dying whale noise. “I cannot with you and this argument again. Eddie, I have told you time and time again, your issues with authority have nothing to do with -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ain’t nothing change but the weather, Ma. I know.” Eddie ducks back with a delighted laugh when she tries to grab him out of fond exasperation. “I gotta go. MJ and Harry are waiting for me down at the fish house.”

“Don’t think this lecture is over because it’s just been paused. Do you hear me? You are getting the _Ted Talking_ of a lifetime when you come back. Which is supposed to be when?”

“Midnight. No earlier. No later.” Eddie plucks his skateboard from behind the door before giving Dr. Skirth a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Later, hater!”

“Ciao, chump!” Dr. Skirth responds in kind with a soft smile, watching her son dash off.

Tony smiles a little, not sure if it’s because Dr. Skirth introduced him as a friend instead of a patient, or because of how charming their dynamic as mother and son is. “He’s a cute kid.”

“Yeah, and he knows it too. Much to my bitter anguish. Gonna break a lot of hearts, that one,” Dr. Skirth sighs with an affectionate grin. “He’s like his dad, you know? Could always talk his way out of any situation, no matter what. He’s a sweetheart though, heart of gold. Anyway, what brings you by? Everything okay?”

Tony can feel the pinpricks of heat rising up in his face. “I - sorry, I don’t think I really thought this whole thing through. This is really inappropriate, right? And it’s not like you're a therapist, so the last thing you need is to hear about are my problems. Sorry. I’m just going to go.”

“Whoa, whoa. Hang on.” Dr. Skirth blocks him from leaving, holding up her hands like she’s trying to calm a spooked horse. “Now while, no, I’m not _that_ kind of doctor, I don’t mind lending an ear.”

Tony gives her a measuring look.

Dr. Skirth uses her finger to cross an 'X' over her heart. “Hand to Babs. If this is a social call, I am one hundred percent completely okay with that.”

Tony shifts his weight and crosses his arms with a shy nod.

“Why don’t you come in, Mr. Rogers? I have, I think, well, no, my parents are making a mixer right now. I can’t remember if my dad said if it was going to be either a margarita or a daiquiri. Eh, either way, you’ve probably never had anything like it. My parents are pros. If drinking was a lucrative sport, they'd place podium finish each time. Oh my god, that just sounds like I'm calling them alcoholics and am endorsing the behavior. That's not what I meant, we all drink responsibly, I swear.”

Tony follows her into the house and is surprised when Dr. Skirth decides to bypass traveling to the kitchen altogether, veering to the left and deeper into the mansion to a back door that leads to a patio area with a firepit.

Dr. Skirth indicates to any of the cushioned benches surrounding the crackling firepit. “I’m gonna grab us some drinks and I’ll be right back.”

Tony nods and looks up at the sky, finding his thoughts involuntarily drifting to Steve and their fight earlier tonight. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, which have begun to grow warm and he tries to breathe through it.

By the time Dr. Skirth returns with two green frozen margaritas with huge straws and salty sugar around the rim, she takes one look at his face and sits beside him. She hands over his drink and says, “Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything. You wanna get drunk and just forget, we can do that. But just so you know, I’ve had my fair share of assholes, and fuck-ups, and disappointments. So I absolutely will not judge you if you _do_ want to talk.”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” Tony laughs weakly as he stares down at his drink. He feels off balance, miserable in the knowledge that Steve is the first person he would have gone to about this whole thing if the Alpha hadn’t already been directly involved. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Tony stares at his drink before he takes six large gulps of it, blinking through the brain freeze with wet eyes and he tells her everything.

Dr. Skirth listens with an attentive ear and neutral expression of sympathy that Tony would take any day over pity. No one disturbs them at all, and Tony has a moment where he wonders if Dr. Skirth had anything to do with that. Either way, he appreciates it and it makes the talking all the easier. He tells her the truth in between all the drinking.

“Well,” Dr. Skirth says by the end of it. “There is certainly a lot to unpack and process. Not judging you though! Remember what I said about my history? Yeah, so, I’ve been through my share of fuck-ups, and assholes, and disappointments. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way when I say that I don’t think Steve falls under any of those. And this is also probably something you don’t want to hear, but I think maybe you two need to talk again about the knotting and the friendship thing. There’s some kind of disconnect there that I think has you both thinking one way when the other person probably means something different.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Tony replies, two glasses of margarita swimming in his blood, keeping him spread across the patio floor on his back, limbs sprawled like a starfish as the sky spins above him. Wait, when did he get on the ground? “You're absolutely right. I _don’t_ want to hear that.”

Dr. Skirth huffs, better at holding her liquor than the other Omega was. “Fights don’t have to last forever. Eventually one of you is going to calm down enough to try at talking it out again."

Tony just grumbles under his breath about how he’s going to be pissed until the day he dies and he's totally going to haunt the shit out of Steve, and just you wait and see if he doesn’t.

Dr. Skirth rolls her eyes, probably thinking that Tony won’t see but he totally does. “Grudges are bad for the body,” she insists as she lightly nudges his shoulder with her socked foot, taking a moment to sip away at her third margarita without batting an eye, Jesus, did she used to be apart of some kind of fraternity or something? How is she so composed? “I was apart of a fraternity actually. The Vodka Vixens.”

Tony blinks up at the sky. Is he talking out loud?”

“Yes, you are.” Dr. Skirth puts her glass down and disappears. She reappears with a bottle of water and helps him sit up and lean back against the bench she’s sitting on so he can drink it properly. “Maybe what you both need is some space to put things into perspective. Time apart wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“Like a trial separation?”

Dr. Skirth nods and goes back to sipping her drink.  

Tony gives her a considering look before he turns away to stare at the crackling fire with a shrug. Then he tries to stumble to his feet. “Need to get home.”

“I’ll walk you.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“I’m not letting you stumble around in the dark by yourself, Mr. Rogers.”

“Fine. But call me Tony.”

“Only if you call me Dora.”

.

.

.

Tony wakes up with the worst hangover and an empty space where he’s sure Steve must have been. He groans and stumbles to the bathroom for a bit of sacred one-on-one time with the toilet. He eventually exits sometime later, feeling a bit better now that he’s got most of it out of his system. He takes a moment to take stock of the room, and thinking back to what Dr. Ski - _Dora_ said, decides to make good on the advice.

Tony’s not even sure where Steve is right now, but he uses the Alpha’s absence to his advantage of packing up his things and having some of the staff help him take it to the guest house out back. He’s nearly done, doubling back to the room for his cactus and his toothbrush when he freezes in the doorway at the sight of Steve looking around with panicked confusion.

Steve looks relieved when he sees him. “Oh thank god - I thought you - I thought you had -”

“Skipped town? No, I’m just switching venues. Excuse me.” Tony carefully navigates around him to grab Drew before heading to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush.

“Tony, hang on. Wait, wait. What are you doing? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I’m staying in the guest house.”

“Is this about last night?”

“This is about yesterday, yes.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I’m not happy about it either, Steve. But I don’t know what else to do here. You won’t tell me what’s going on with you. So how about it? You gonna tell me what changed?”

Steve opens his mouth, and his expression shuffles like a deck of cards, passing through a series of complicated emotions. Then he says, “Not everything is about you.”

Tony gives a bitter laugh. “Right. Good talk. Excuse me.”

Steve doesn’t try and stop him from leaving again.

Somehow that pisses Tony off even more.

.

.

.

It takes Tony all of Friday and Saturday, but he finally finishes building his new phone and his new tablet. FRIDAY is still offline, though he’s not too worried about that just yet. He’ll give her another day or so before he goes looking for her.

In the meantime, he decides to break in his new phone by putting two numbers he’s memorized to good use.

_You have named this conversation “PERKY PERIODIC PALS”._

**youknowwhoiam** : texting you both at the same time to eliminate drama  
**youknowwhoiam:** youre welcome

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** tony????

 **youknowhoiam:** ;)

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** omg miles it’s tony !!!

 **sunflowersandstickers:** yooooo  
**sunflowersandstickers:** what is UP my GUY  
**sunflowersandstickers:** thought we scared you off

 **youknowwhoiam:** nope :)

 **sunflowersandstickers:** lmao that group chat name im dead

_snowwhiteprivilege named this conversation ‘BIONIC BACKYARDIGANS’_

**snowwhiteprivilege:** there thats beter  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** *better

 **youknowwhoiam:** spoilsport :(  
**youknowwhoiam:** wait whats a backyardigan

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** omg u serious???  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** nobody say anything

 **sunflowersandstickers:** lol

 **youknowwhoiam:** nvm googled it and absolutely not

_youknowwhoiam named this conversation ‘MECHANICAL MAVERICKS’_

**snowwhiteprivilege:** boo

 **sunflowersandstickers:** oh wait wait yall i got it

_sunflowersandstickers named this conversation ‘SPIDER GANG GANG’._

**snowwhiteprivilege:** niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice

 **youknowwhoiam:** ill allow it

 **sunflowersandstickers:** lol thanks

 **youknowwhoiam:** so whats happening in the city

 **sunflowersandstickers:** wym ****  
**sunflowersandstickers:** dude are u not in the cut right now??? **  
** **sunflowersandstickers:** *city

 **youknowwhoiam:** nope :)  
**youknowwhoiam:** last minute honeymoon

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** ???  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** ???  
**snowwhiteprivilege:**???

_sunflowersandstickers emphasized snowwhiteprivilege’s ‘???’ message._

**youknowwhoiam:** lol  
**youknowwhoiam:** did i forget to mention im married?

**sunflowersandstickers:**

****

**snowwhiteprivilege:**

****

**youknowwhoiam:** my bad?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** nah nah we jp congrats

_snowwhiteprivilege emphasized sunflowersandstickers’s ‘nah nah we jp congrats’ message._

**snowwhiteprivilege:** really hope they’re treating you right  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** you seem like a great guy that deserves the best

 **sunflowersandstickers:** heck yeah my dudes i second that  
**sunflowersandstickers:** also just sayin but not just sayin  
**sunflowersandstickers:** if they not treating you right  
**sunflowersandstickers:** me and gwen might have to give them that ‘disappeared under mysterious circumstances’ action

 **youknowwhoiam:** not necessary  
**youknowwhoiam:** do you know steve rogers?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ayyyy wat u kno about señor stevie steve  
**sunflowersandstickers:** that’s my guy right there love that man

 **youknowwhoiam:** actually that’s my guy  
**youknowwhoiam:**

****

_snowwhiteprivilege laughed at youknowwhoiam’s image._

**sunflowersandstickers:** lmao damn i see u go stupid ayyy go brazy

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** you know i heard steve got married but  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** i didn’t know that was you

 **sunflowersandstickers:** aint realize steve had game like that  
**sunflowersandstickers:** on god i need to be coming to him for dating advice  
**sunflowersandstickers:** he know how to snatch up some snacks obvs

 **youknowwhoiam:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ****

_snowwhiteprivilege and sunflowersandstickers laughed at youknowwhoiam’s ‘_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯'  _message._

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** how did you guys meet if i can ask

 **youknowwhoiam:** you can ask but trust me its long and boring  
**youknowwhoiam:** i wont bore you with the details  
**youknowwhoiam:** whats happening in the city?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** queenpin running for mayor

 **youknowwhoiam:** ew why

_snowwhiteprivilege liked youknowwhoiam’s ‘ew why’ message._

**sunflowersandstickers:** lol ikr  
**sunflowersandstickers:** ion even know  
**sunflowersandstickers:** when i saw it i was like  
**sunflowersandstickers:**

****

_youknowwhoiam emphasized sunflowersandstickers’s image._

**snowwhiteprivilege:** lol  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** oh yeah there’s this new villain called scorpion  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** he attacked this ferry the other day

 **sunflowersandstickers:** !!!  
**sunflowersandstickers:** oh yeah oh yeah our main man spiderman was there tho  
**sunflowersandstickers:** threw hands but scorpion didn’t want the smoke

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** spidey didnt manage to pin him down tho   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** he’s still at large

 **sunflowersandstickers:** fax :(

 **youknowwhoiam:** so nbd but i was there  
**youknowwhoiam:** on that ferry  
**youknowwhoiam:** the very one you speak of with scorpion and spiderman

**snowwhiteprivilege:**

****

**youknowwhoiam:** lol  
**youknowwhoiam:** does it make it better or worse to say that i met spiderman

**sunflowersandstickers:**

****

_snowwhiteprivilege loved sunflowersandstickers’s image._

**sunflowersandstickers:** spill the tea sis

 **youknowwhoiam:** not sure where to start  
**youknowwhoiam:** its like how they always say  
**youknowwhoiam:** it happened so fast  
**youknowwhoiam:** one minute steve and i were just sitting  
**youknowwhoiam:** talking  
**youknowwhoiam:** then these guys in clown masks came in with guns ive never seen before

 **sunflowersandstickers:** wym like army issued type?

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** whoa hang on go back to the clown mask thing  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** did they really???

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah it was weird and creepy  
**youknowwhoiam:** miles no it wasn’t army issued i could tell

 **sunflowersandstickers:** and you know a lot about weapons?

 **youknowwhoiam:** when your father is howard stark you dont get a choice

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** omg  
**snowwhiteprivilege:** your dad is howard stark???

 **sunflowersandstickers:** weird flex but okay

 **youknowwhoiam:** yes  
**youknowwhoiam:** anyway the point is that i couldnt identify the grade or type  
**youknowwhoiam:** also i might have stolen a small tiny insignificant plasma gun

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** tony …

 **sunflowersandstickers:** lmao big mood  
**sunflowersandstickers:** pics or it didn’t happen

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol yeah hang on  
**youknowwhoiam:**

****

**snowwhiteprivilege:** omg

 **sunflowersandstickers:** what to heck those gears  
**sunflowersandstickers:** what kind of metal is that???

 **youknowwhoiam:** that’s exactly what ive been trying to figure out

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** sounds like you could use some help :)

 **sunflowersandstickers:** oh yeah say less  
**sunflowersandstickers:**  100% on board :)

 **youknowhoiam:** :)

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** that’s settled so go back to talking about meeting spiderman

_sunflowersandstickers emphasized snowwhiteprivilege’s ‘that’s settled so go back to talking about meeting spiderman’ message._

**youknowwhoiam:** lol sure

Tony loses himself to the brainstorming session, and the best thing about it is that he doesn’t think about Steve even once. Really. He doesn’t.

He -

Fuck.

(He misses Steve so much.)


	13. YEAR 1: PART V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - 
> 
>  
> 
> Y O U ' R E / W E L C O M E ;)
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. dont forget to show me love i work hard for ya'll attention fam

Steve has dug himself in a hole, he knows. The worst thing about it is that the only way to climb out is to confess to the inappropriate feelings he’s been having for Tony.

God, _Tony._ He trusted Steve, wanted nothing more than for them to be friends and here Steve was pushing for more this whole time.

This is Peggy all over again and as much as he hates to admit it, he panicked, pushed Tony at a distance, tried to wean himself off of his selfish feelings. He’d been trying to protect himself and protect Tony, who was looking to Steve to treat him with the respect and kindness of a friend.

So that’s what Steve had been trying to do because he thought that’s what Tony wanted but somehow he still ended up hurting his husband with that distance anyway.

Tony didn’t understand, of course he didn’t, because how could he? If Steve is his first friend, he’s assuming everything they’ve done up until that point is normal platonic behavior. Tony thinks that … _Christ,_ Tony _believes_ this is the way friends are supposed to treat each other.

Friends with benefits, yeah there’s a word for it, but usually both sides are aware of what’s happening.

Steve feels a bit nauseous thinking that he’s been taking advantage of Tony this whole time. He had tried to undo some of the damage, tried to set boundaries, tried to tone down all the touching and the flirting. It had _hurt._

Giving up those things had been like trying to give up air. And Tony, so beautiful and so trusting, looked at him with confusion all the while and Steve had wanted to cry, wanted to throw himself to his knees and beg forgiveness.

Steve hadn’t had the right words to explain all this when Tony asked, and he dug himself deeper by trying to avoid it by being vague, by insisting that it’s because of exhaustion.

It’s not exactly a lie. Keeping Tony at a distance and battling with these conflicting emotions _has_ been exhausting, draining.

Then the fight happens and the … the sex.

Steve’s cheeks burn fiercely just thinking about how much Tony’s brattiness and anger turned him on. He shouldn’t have given in to it, should have stopped things when Tony telegraphed every movement, every intention, but Steve had been suffering from two days of physical withdrawal right after a Rut and he’d just … snapped.

He wants Tony in every possible way but he would rather throw himself on a thousand swords than continue to take advantage of Tony’s misunderstandings about friendships and how they were supposed to be.

So when Tony pressed again after … well after the sex, he had to set his jaw and thought to himself that that would have to be the last time anything like that happened and told Tony exactly what he’d been saying before. Blamed his behavior on exhaustion again and insisted it had nothing to do with Tony.

Something tells him by the way Tony storms off that the Omega can spot the lie for what it is.

Steve waits up all night, wrenching his hands in worry, his stomach turning with anxiety as he does his best not to imagine something bad happening to Tony.

He kind of wants to lecture Tony when he finally stumbles to bed long after midnight smelling like liquor and Dr. Skirth. It comforts him only a little that Tony was with the good doctor that whole time, but his feelings of guilt surge up when he picks up the scent of tears.

Tony drunkenly cries himself to sleep and Steve can’t even stay put after Tony drifts off. He has to leave the mansion and walk along the beach until the sun rises, and maybe even longer after that.

There’s this weird thing that happens during his walk though. A Beta man wearing a black suit and tie with neatly parted dark hair and aviator sunglasses, standing on a mound of sand in the distance, watches him.

Steve waves awkwardly but the man doesn’t wave back. His stare is tangible, even behind the glasses. He looks at Steve longer than what Steve’s comfortable with, long enough to make Steve’s skin crawl. 

Then the guy just ... turns away and disappears up the hill leading to the roads.

Steve decides that that’s enough walking and he doubles back to the beach house. Once he’s there he kind of panics because all of Tony’s things are gone. But the Omega appears not a minute later, still upset and confrontational as ever.

And it’s the stress of the situation, the guilt, the loneliness that makes Steve say, “Not everything is about you.”

Tony took that about as well as Steve could have imagined, and exits without sparing Steve another glance. That cuts deep.

Bucky sends him a text that very night to warn that he’d be calling in the early morning hours and if he misses that call, tough luck, it’ll be a couple of weeks before they could try again.

Steve doesn’t go to bed that night. He just sits out on the balcony and fills at least three pages of his sketching pad with miniature demo drawings of Tony’s hands from different angles and positions, Tony's side of the bond swimming in agitated shades of blues and greys. If Steve glances at the guest house more than once for even a glimpse of Tony, well, it’s not like anyone is around to judge him for it.

By the time Bucky’s call comes through, Steve’s already talking a mile a minute as the line connects, spilling everything, shedding his woes with his childhood friend since he’d been a bit too embarrassed to talk to Peggy or his Ma or even Sam.

Bucky’s response to the whole situation is to laugh his ass off.

“ _You’re such a self-sacrificing idiot_ ,” Bucky wheezes on the other end of the secured line.

Steve sighs and takes comfort in the fact that the agent assigned to eavesdrop on this conversation in efforts to protect any slip of confidentiality wasn’t probably laughing at him. Geez. Who is he kidding? The guy is probably in worse stitches than Bucky right now.

“You done yet, jerk?” Steve gripes, though it does make him happy to just hear his best friend laugh, to take a minute away from the horrors of war, to pretend. He misses Bucky constantly and worries about him just as much. “It ain't that funny.”

“ _Fuck you, it’s hilarious. I can’t wait t' talk to Sam about this._ ” Bucky continues to laugh, ignoring Steve’s grumbling. “ _Alright, alright. I’m good._ ”

Steve rolls his eyes and walks out onto the balcony to take in the ocean view, and definitely not to peer into the open window of the guest house with a perfect view of its living room floor where Tony is currently spending most of his time working on his phone and what looks to be a tablet.

Bucky says, “ _Christ. Clearly ain't using your goddamn brains. You’re lucky you’re so pretty._ ”

“Thought you were the pretty one.”

“ _Yeah, and don't you ever forget it, pal._ ” Bucky pauses for a moment. Then, sounding suspicious, he asks, “ _Hey, Stevie, whatcha doin’? You’re going all quiet on me like you do when you’re distracted. You usually fuss at me more by now._ ”

Steve jerks his gaze away from the guest house, feeling his face go hot and he pushes away from the railing to retreat back inside to a room that seems even more oppressively spacious without Tony there to share it with him. “Nothing, Buck. Just taking in the sights.”

“ _Uh huh. And that wouldn’t happen t' include your new arm candy, would it?_ ”

Steve massages the bridge of his nose as he mutters, “Don’t call him that. His name is Mr. Rogers to you.”

Bucky snorts. “ _Kinky._ ” He shifts on the other end. “ _Anyway, I’ve gotta hand it t' ya. Prettiest O I’ve ever seen you bag. S’good thing you had the sense t' put a ring on it. Or teeth in this case. Christ, those eyes of his._ ”

“Do I wanna know how you know what Tony looks like?” Steve narrows his eyes, but he already knows the answer.

“ _Sammie sent me some pictures of you two at Wing Palace._ ”

That’s exactly what Steve thought.

“ _Seriously though, if you fuck it up, I won’t hesitate to offer myself as a rebound._ ”

“Watch it. Those are the words of a dead man and I’d hate t' put your Ma and Becca through that. Well, maybe they’d actually thank me for it, matter fact. It’d keep you from pigging out on all the homemade pies during the holidays. Give the rest of us a chance to enjoy more than a crumb of what you graciously left behind.”

Bucky starts laughing again and Steve’s lips start twitching as well.

“Enough about me. How are things for you?”

“ _Ah, same as always. Brass tells me t' jump and I ask how high. Typical._ ”

“But you’re … safe?”

“ _Don't be stupid._ _Ain’t nothing safe about war, Rogers. You know that._ ”

Steve does but it doesn’t make him worry about it any less. “Can’t ya tell me anythin', Buck?”

Bucky’s goes thoughtfully silent. Then he says, “ _Yeah, sure. You should tell your fella the truth._ ”

Steve clenches his jaw in annoyance at the blatant change in subject but he knows it’s not Bucky’s fault. Not really. He’s under orders to keep whatever he’s been assigned to do under wraps. Which is why Steve replies, “I can’t tell him that I’m in love with him.”

“ _Course you can, doofus. Stop being a big scaredy cat._ ”

“Yeah, well, up your nose with a rubber hose. It’s not that simple.”

“ _Sun rises and sets like always as far as I'm concerned. You’re just complicating the process between that. Talk to him._ ”

“I told you already. It doesn’t matter. He just wants to be friends.”

“ _Maybe. But you think that might be because he don’t know that there are other options?_ ”

Steve says nothing to that, hating what Bucky is implying. “It’s not that simple,” he insists.

“ _Uh ... **yeah** , it is._ _You’re just an idiot._ ”

“Tony’s never had a friend. He deserves that.”

“ _Never said he didn’t, punk. Don’t mean you can’t let that turn into more. C’mon, you’re acting like you’ve never - oh **shit**._”

Steve startles at that, wincing and moving the phone from his ear even though it’s already too late. “Hey, easy! You’ll bust my eardrum. What’s your -”

“ _I figured it out._ ”

Steve rubs one eye tiredly with a sigh. “Figured out what?”

“ _You’re a dumbass knothead._ ”

“I’m hanging up.”

“ _Hold on, wait, I'm not done. Hear me out._ ”

“That’s what I’ve been doing. That’s the problem.”

“ _Would you shut your fucking yap up for a sec? I’m about to save your marriage, though maybe I shouldn’t if you’re gonna be all pissy._ ”

Steve rolls his eyes but keeps his mouth shut and just waits.

“ _Now … as I was **trying to say** … the problem isn’t that Tony wants to be your friend, it’s that you don’t know how to be someone’s friend before you date them._”

“What?”

“ _You’ve never dated anyone you were friends with first._ ”

Steve rubs at the corners of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“ _What, am I speaking a different language here? Name one person you’ve dated that you were friends with first._ ”

Steve scoffs and opens his mouth but then pauses because his mind actually goes blank. Then he really tries to think about it but … “Afterwards,” he mumbles in realization. “Not before but I’m still … I mean we’re friends now … that it’s over, fuck.”

“ _Exactly, you goof. Friendships don’t always stay platonic. You've just been doing it backwards._ ”

“Oh god,” Steve groans as he sinks his face in his free hand. “This is what went wrong with Peggy, isn’t it? Christ. I kept pushing for a date when all she wanted was to … which means because I shot the friendship down, she decided she had to shoot me down. Because I’m an idiot that thought if we started off as friends, we’d just stay that way, because I’d never … that isn’t how I date.”

“ _Amen._ ” Bucky sounds entirely too amused and smug. “ _Damn, I’m thinking we should’ve had this talk ages ago. Why didn’t any of us realize that’s why your relationships failed in the past? Well, I mean, I know why I didn’t and why Sam didn’t, us not being directly involved in them and all that, but c’mon, Steve, I think maybe you should have figured this out from the jump._ ”

“Shut it, soldier.”

“ _Yeesh, calm down, you animal. Watch the language,_ ” Bucky drawls sarcastically and Steve huffs in amusement, even though he doesn’t really want to. His mind is still spinning with this new information. “ _You know I’m only teasing, right? If anything, maybe you were meant to come to this conclusion now for a reason. I mean, you seem pretty gone on your O._ ”

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, not even bothering to deny it. “Crazy as it sounds, I … I know he’s it for me. End all, be all.”

“ _Well then, go show him that. Go talk or grovel or whatever the hell you need t'do to get your man back._ ”

“Tony’s not gonna make it easy, I feel like,” Steve admits with a wry smile.

Bucky makes an agreeable sound. “ _Anything worth having don’t always come easy, Stevie. Guess it’s a good thing you’re as stubborn as all hell, right? Enough to outlast him anyway maybe._ ” Then he says, “ _Now, if we’re done evaluating your love life, can we examine mine next? Tell me more about the doctor with excellent taste in Lisa Frank products. Be honest. How thick are her thighs?_ ”

.

.

.

Steve doesn’t bother going back to sleep, his mind still flooded with thoughts about Tony and his own stupidity. He spends the rest of the morning going through the motions of his morning routine. He starts building an apology in his mind, rehearsing it about a dozen times before he lets it collapse with a sigh of frustration.

He realizes that he’s not ready to face Tony yet. He thinks maybe the both of them are still too vulnerable and raw for a calm discussion. He’s nervous, terribly nervous about how Tony may react, not to mention worried that Tony might never forgive him.

So yes, Steve doesn’t like the separation, but he starts to think that maybe it’s not the worse thing at the moment. He needs more time, really - to face his own demons, perhaps even brood a bit more about the situation. He’s allowed that, right? They both are.

Steve sighs and makes his way down to the kitchen, greeting the staff there and putting in a request for blueberry waffles, not for himself, no, but for Tony. He just grabs as many cartons of ice cream he can fit in his arms and retreats back to his room to wallow privately.

Steve eats his way through Rocky Road and Sherbet and Jamoca Almond Fudge (all nondairy because he's not suicidal or a glutton for pain), all while powering through episode after episode of either _Lassie_ or  _The Munsters._ When lunch hits, he puts in an order for cinnamon rolls, which he plans to eat exclusively, and for a batch of chicken nuggets to be sent to Tony.

For dinner, Steve marathons _Twilight Zone,_ sketches Tony’s smile about a dozen times and eats his way through several pans of strawberry cheesecake. He also maybe makes sure some of it is sent to Tony (along with an order of cheeseburgers). He just wants to make sure that Tony is taken care of. He’s tried to ask FRIDAY about Tony via his new upgraded phone but he’d gotten no response, and figuring Tony must have cut him off, he decides not to question it.

Tony's side of the bond is firmly saturated in gloomy shades of bluish greys and never changes from that agitated hue, not even once.

This pattern continues all through Friday and Saturday.

On the eve of Sunday, when Steve is nearly sick with all the sweets he’s been bingeing, a text from Sam and Riley comes through to let him know there’s a change of plans and that they need to stay in New York a little longer to follow a promising lead for their case.

Steve thinks maybe fate is on his side with that one, because he doesn’t think he can travel further than the sink without having to dash back to the toilet, let alone entertain company. He really overdid it with the eating, and he’s paying for it in spades. Eventually, he’s able to crawl back into bed by the time noon hits, and he sleeps until the late evening, just on the cusp of dinner.

When Steve is sure that his appetite has returned, he gets up, showers, shaves, brushes his hair, changes his outfit a handful of times, and then slowly makes his way to the guest house.

Steve is greeted by a wall of heavy metal music blasting through the open windows as he gets near, though he’s unsurprised since it’s been like that all weekend. He knows Tony must be bunkered down in one of his engineering hazes, and he finds himself wondering which of his projects he’s working on.

Steve shakes the thought off and he lifts his hand to knock, pausing at the last second, before dropping it and walking away, trying to silently rehearse the words he wants to say before he approaches the door again. He gets through about a dozen false starts before he finally works up the courage to knock. He has to knock pretty hard and loud.

The music stops, though it’s more of a curious pause really.

Steve knocks again just in case.

Tony appears in the doorway a moment later, wearing sweats and one of Steve’s hoodies (he tries not to stare or preen at that), and every inch of him is nearly covered with streaks of motor oil. He looks at Steve with a blank face, and he doesn’t look impressed by the interruption.

Steve sighs quietly before he takes a step back. “Hi.”

Tony shifts and gives him a measuring look. “Hi.”

Steve clears his throat, trying to combat some of his growing nervousness. “Ask me again,” he says, just like he’d rehearsed in his mind over a hundred times.

“Steve …”

“Ask me again,” Steve encourages.

Tony stares at him for a long time. Then he crosses his arms, wearing that mutinous expression of his that Steve easily identifies as his way of putting up walls out of fear of maybe closeness or vulnerability. He exhales before he says, “Why were you acting so different?”

“I thought you were rejecting me.” There. Steve’s put all his cards on the table.

Tony still doesn’t look impressed, if anything, he’s beginning to look upset. “You thought I was rejecting you,” he repeats flatly. “When would I have been doing that exactly?”

“You remember when I told you about how I am with knotting?” Steve waits until Tony gives him a slow nod, his side of the bond is unfolding in confused swatches of blue and grey and white. “And after I told you that I trusted you and liked you enough to want to do that with you, you said … you said you were happy to just be my friend.”

Tony’s face begins to twist into a deeper frown, his expression marked with annoyed confusion. “Actually, I distinctly remember telling you that I don’t have a lot of experience with friendships before saying that I counted you as my _best friend._  And you’re telling me that you thought I was, what? Rejecting you? So you decided to reject me too? Is that it?”

“No, no that’s not - I mean maybe that is a little of what it was, but I also felt like I was taking advantage of you,” Steve quickly explains, and internally panics when Tony’s expression turns thunderous.

“You better explain right now what you mean by that,” Tony warns and drops his hands to rest them on his hips. “ _How_ is being my best friend taking advantage of me?”

“Because you said you didn’t have experience with friendships, and I’d been doing … _we’d_ been doing things that friends don’t really, you know, do with each other. Or that’s what I was thinking at least. I - this is hard to explain, but I thought I was leading you to believe that the things we’ve done together was typical platonic friendship behavior.”

Tony laughs suddenly, his side of the bond is crackling ominously with white and Steve is more than familiar with how that means Tony is well and truly pissed. “Oh, you asshole.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You think I don’t know the difference between platonic and carnal relationships?”

“I did, but - _but!_ ” Steve holds up his hands to urge Tony not to slam the door in his face. “But I realized that it wasn’t you that didn’t understand the difference … it was me.”

Tony pauses at that, one hand still resting on the door like he’s weighing the truth of Steve’s words. And then his face clears and twists into something that looks like dawning understanding. “You’ve never dated anyone you were friends with first,” he reasons.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being surprised by how intelligently perceptive Tony can be at the most random moments. Steve flushes regardless and shifts his weight a little. “Yeah, I - I thought you were … I _assumed_ we got our wires crossed. I thought I was … I didn’t want to take advantage. But then I talked to Bucky and we realized I was … that it was a misunderstanding on my side. I’m sorry.”

Tony eyes him for a moment before he says, “You know, for the record, most people end up marrying their best friend, or so I heard. It’s not always … it’s doesn’t always have to stay platonic.”

Steve smiles sheepishly as his heart picks up double time when Tony's side of the bind begins to bloom in complacent hues of pinks and reds. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry too.” Tony rubs his face tiredly and Steve has to resist the urge to reach out and fold him into his arms.

“Neither of us is perfect.”

Tony laughs a little bitterly at that. “Yes, I know.” He sighs like he’s really tired, and there’s no missing the bags under his eyes when Steve lets himself really look.

Steve hates to think Tony’s been losing as much sleep over this situation as he, himself, has. “For what it’s worth … I still trust you.”

Tony doesn’t say it back. Instead, he replies, voice slightly shaky, “You really hurt me with the distance you put between us.”

Steve inhales sharply at the bluntness of it. He says, “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“But I hurt you too. I know how I reacted was - it was - not good. You deserved better than that. I could have ... god, that must have been a lot to deal with.”

“It was.” Steve shifts his weight again. “We both made some mistakes, but that doesn’t mean we are bad people.”

Tony exhales shakily, and his brown eyes are slightly misty. “I want to trust you again,” he admits.

Steve swallows dryly. “I want that too. I … Tony, I still want you. In any way you’ll have me.”

Tony bites his bottom lip unsurely and his side of the bond goes kind of quiet.

“I don’t expect you to believe that right away, and I don’t expect you to want to get back together again now because you’re feeling hurt,” Steve continues. “That’s fine and it’s your decision and I respect it. But ... all I ask is that you at least let us try and be friends for now.”

Tony laughs wetly, and it’s a hollow sound. “You don’t seem to really want to be my friend.”

“No, I do. I just … I want more in addition to that.”

Tony stares at him.

“It’s probably selfish, I know. I know.” Steve runs a shaky hand through his hair with a paper thin smile. “We only … we had an agreement about this. I didn’t mean to … I wasn’t trying to ask for more than what you were willing to give. But somewhere along the lines, that agreement stopped being enough for me.”

“What are you saying?”

Steve knows that it’s now or never. He’s choosing now because it would kill him if he lost Tony because he was too afraid to say how he felt. He says, “You know what I hate about mornings? You probably think it’s the waking up, but it’s actually having to let you go, not being able to hold you for even just a minute longer. And the truth is … the truth is that when I wake up beside you, every morning is great, and it’s all because of you. I know you probably think that I’m trying to talk myself into getting out of bed, but I’m actually praying. I’m praying that _your_ day is filled with the sweetest moments that you’ll remember forever and that you have an amazing day ahead of you in every way possible.”

Tony inhales sharply at that, his eyes glistening wetly.

Steve soldiers on, “Spending time with you is … it’s almost sacred. The other night when we worked on my phone together, that was … it was the most enjoyable thing I have ever done in my life. Because it was with you. And when I’m with you, no matter if we’re brushing our teeth or arguing over which movie we should watch, I always feel like I’m having the time of my life. I don’t mind staying up all night and being tired the next day as long as I’m talking to you. But when we are apart, every second is spent in agony waiting to see you again.

“No matter how many times we fight or argue, I always want to work it out. And I need you to know that no one could ever take your place. You are amazing in every way and I don’t know what I would do or where I would be if I never met you. You have truly changed my life in ways you will never understand. You are undoubtedly the most amazing, loving, kind, adorable, handsome, cute, funny, sweet, perfect man I have ever met and I am so lucky to have you. As long as I know that there’s a chance for us, I will always fight for you. And if I have to spend the rest of my life to get you to believe everything I’m saying right now, I’ll do it because I - I love you. I'll do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.”

Tony is openly crying now, silent streams of tears spill down his red cheeks as he presses his hands to his mouth and stares at Steve like … like he can’t believe Steve is real.

“No, ah, pressure or anything but … maybe you could, I don’t know, say something because I’m feeling very … exposed.”

Tony drops his hands and says, “You know, you’ve completely changed my life, in every way inside and out.”

Steve blinks and tries not to jump to conclusions (he’d already learned that the hard way). “I, uh … should I apologize?”

Tony huffs, swiping the tips of his fingers under his eyes to dry his cheeks. “No, that’s … god, I’m saying that kissing you, hugging you, making you laugh at my silly jokes, staring at you like a crazy fan, missing you when you are away … Steve, those are all the things that I have no control over when you’re involved.

“Actually, I don’t think you understand how important it is for me to hear the sound of your voice every day. I may not always express my feelings but if you look into my eyes you will see that I'm thankful that you are in my life. I love the way you understand my thoughts before I voice them. I love the way you help me be the best version of myself. And I love who I am when I'm with you.

“You always tell me that I’m perfect, but honestly, you’re my angel. I used to look at my parents, their marriage, what they had, and … sometimes I wondered if love was even worth fighting for. But then I look at you and it’s like …” Tony laughs and shakes his head. “It’s like I’m ready for war. Don’t get me wrong. I could attempt to live my life without you. But I would fail miserably. You have to know that I love you too ... but I’m scared to death of it.”

Steve can feel his heart soar. There it goes, up in the clouds, out of the atmosphere, and into space. Tony _loves_ him. He loves _him_. “I’m scared too,” he breathes and takes a step forward, reveling in the fact that Tony doesn’t flinch away from him. “I’m fucking terrified.”

“Good things don’t last for people like me, Steve,” Tony continues as a fresh set of tears start spilling over his cheeks, his side of the bond is writhing in shades of pale blues and greys. “No, what lasts is the pain that comes after love. The magic fades too fast, and … I could never forgive myself if … if something happened to you because of me. Because you decided to be with me. To love me.” He exhales shakily as his bottom lip trembles. “I just don’t think that … you deserve …”

Steve isn’t going to let him do this. “No, Tony. You can’t decide what’s best for me. I get that you mean well, I do. But you’re pushing me away. I know it’s scary. I know. I’m scared too, but I’m still going to love you anyway. I’m still going to fight for you.”

Tony looks like he’s going to protest. “Steve -”

“You can’t just say everything you said to me and expect me to pretend. I can’t,” Steve calmly interjects. “I know you’re scared, but you’ve got to trust me. You’ve got to trust us. You can't experience love only on your own terms. It doesn't work that way. If we do this, Tony, I mean _really_ do this, you’ve got to know that we’re in this together.”

Tony fidgets, still looking uncertain. “What if we crash and burn?”

Steve holds up his pinky, waiting until Tony curls his own around it with a nostalgic smile before he replies, “Then we’ll do that together too.”

Tony squeezes their pinkies together affectionately before he pulls away to rub at his face tiredly before dropping his hands. “I need to - I want to - can we just … start over again? Take it slow? Love confessions notwithstanding, of course. I’m not saying to - to ignore that, but.”

“I understand. We'll take it slow, go back to the start,” Steve says before Tony can continue. He holds out his hand, lips twitching when Tony huffs in amusement. “Steve Rogers.”

Tony shakes his hand. “Tony Rogers.”

“Tony. That’s a nice name. I like it. Like the last name even more.”

Tony takes back his hand with a tiny exasperated smile. “Thank you.” Then he adds, “Yours is pretty okay too.”

“Thanks.” Steve says, “You know, if you’re not too busy, maybe you could join me for dinner?”

“I already ate,” Tony admits, his side of the bond dancing in healthy hues of reds and pinks and Steve finally understands what it means. It means Tony  _loves_ him. “Someone kept sending food to my room to make sure of that.”

Steve ducks his head and grins down at his shoes. “Sounds like they’re looking out for you.”

Tony makes a thoughtfully amused sound in reply. “Yeah, I mean, not to lead you on or anything, but you should know I’m married.”

Steve brings his gaze back up. “Lucky guy,” he murmurs and takes pleasure in the way Tony blushes. “A walk then? Along the beach.” Then he adds, “I won’t tell your fella if you don’t.”

.

.

.

They meet at midnight, like they agreed earlier (just to give Tony enough time to clean up and for Steve to eat some real food), and walk with bare feet along the cool grooves of sand marked with sticks and pebbles and seashells on the beach. They don’t really talk at first, just content to walk under a canopy of stars with nothing but the moonlight to go by. Besides, they had said more than enough earlier.

The bond blooms with a kaleidoscope of serene colors between them.

Steve watches Tony mostly during their walk, keeping track of the way his whiskey brown eyes observe each piece of driftwood rolling onto the sandy shores with slight interest. He finds himself smiling at the disgruntled look Tony gets whenever he accidentally steps on a thread of slimy seaweed.

Tony stops at one point when they come upon a handful of abandoned tools made specifically for beach play. He crouches down to it, cocking his head before looking up at Steve with a coy grin. “Wanna build a sandcastle? Always wanted to try that.”

Steve nods and says, “We should get a little closer to the water.”

They find a spot that seems perfect for the build: not too far from the water but not too close that all their hard work would wash away in a sweep of a frothy wave.

As sand slides from the buckets, both big and small, Tony becomes more and more engrossed in the project, smiling to himself in a way that Steve thinks he probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing. Steve has to sit back at one point just so he can watch him.

For that tiny moment, the waves hush and a streak of moonlight seem to cut through the scattered clouds to shine a spotlight on Tony. Steve marvels at how beautiful his Omega is like this, carefree with sand in his hair, whispering to himself over the structure and integrity of their castle with a furrowed brow marked with focused intensity. It makes Steve smile all the more.

Tony has this way of doing any and everything as though his life depended on it, as if he’s really only got one shot to get it right. It's one of the many things Steve loves about him.

Steve feels as if this moment on the moonlit beach is a photograph that they are both eternal within. He watches Tony continue to take the reins while Steve dreams of the inner life they could have together in that sandcastle. Music would probably bounce from within, notes dancing, while Steve took Tony in his arms so they could waltz around for hours.

Steve sees a million sunrises and the million starry nights that follow in this make-believe world, each as crisp and perfect as the last.

A corner of the castle crumbles quite suddenly before either of them can do anything about it.

While Steve scrambles to try and correct it (to no avail), Tony just laughs, his eyes full of the stars, his lips twisted with good humor as he tells Steve to leave it alone.

“But it’s … warped. Lopsided.”

“It’s okay. Now the sandcastle has character.” Tony’s lazy grin has the kind of lighthearted cheer that blooms much in the way a spring flower opens.

Steve can only sit back, stupefied at how that happy glow seems to come from deep within Tony to light up his brown eyes and spread into every part of him. He’s grins at Steve with more than his mouth, it’s even in his voice, in the choice of his words, and the way he is relaxed. It’s breathtaking.

Steve aches with the need to kiss him. It starts from the crown of his head and spreads all the way to the soles of his feet. His hands twitch into the sand with the desire to reach out and touch. He doesn’t.

Tony wants to take things slow, so that’s exactly what Steve does. He’d do anything for Tony.

Steve stands and dusts himself off. “We should at least add a few seashells, I think. Give me a sec.” He scours the pale mounds of beach sand for the perfect batch before he returns to Tony with his haul, preening at how impressed Tony is over his findings.

Steve isn’t sure how long they are out there, putting the final touches on their sandcastle, but eventually, after Tony yawns for maybe the fifteenth time, he decides that maybe it’s time to call it a night. He rises and asks Tony if he’s ready to go.

Tony nods, grabbing the hand that Steve offers to help him to his feet.

Steve expects him to let go once he has his bearings. He doesn’t.

Tony looks at him, as though asking silently if it’s okay.

Steve smiles and gives the hand in his own an affectionate squeeze in response.

They walk all the way home like that, soaking up the warm press of their fingers threaded together comfortably, and when they end up on the doorstep of the guest house, Steve lifts that hand to press a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Tony’s cheeks go pink, and his side of the bond becomes more of a vibrant red, like the healthiest hue of a rose. “I … I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Steve nods and lets his hand go, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.

Tony reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pen before grabbing Steve’s hand again. “I, uh, I finished building my phone.”

Steve chuckles a little at the number being scrawled on the back of his hand. “You sure your husband won’t mind?”

Tony snorts before releasing his hand and pocketing his pen again. “You let me worry about that. Text me when you want to meet up for breakfast. _If,_ I mean, if you want to meet up. I don’t want to assume. Uh. Or you can … text me for whatever reason too. Doesn't have to, you know, be about _that_ specifically. Text me whenever the mood strikes.”

“I just might,” Steve replies with a sly half-grin. “Well. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

Tony smiles shyly. “Only because you say so,” and he disappears behind the other side of the door.

It’s a few minutes before Steve can convince himself to walk away, thinking maybe they can get through this and come out on the other side okay.

.

.

.

_You have named this conversation ‘FOREVER FRIEND’._

**brooklynfisticuffs:** good morning :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** am i having a stroke  
**youknowwhoiam:** or does that really say ‘forever friend’

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** maybe :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** thats so extra  
**youknowwhoiam:** how did you sleep

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** fine  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** you?

 **youknowwhoiam:** made good on three hours  
**youknowwhoiam:** mind is still firing on all cylinders

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** breakfast?

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah give me  
**youknowwhoiam:** ten minutes?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** meet you in the dining room?

 **youknowwhoiam:** uhhhh let’s eat outside  
**youknowwhoiam:** such a nice day out

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** why do i feel like you're avoiding that room

**youknowwhoiam:**

****

**brooklynfisticuffs:** is it because we had a fight in there  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** or because we had a *fight* in there ;)

 **youknowwhoiam:** laugh it up cap  
**youknowwhoiam:** but i’ve got dirt on you

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** this i gotta hear

 **youknowwhoiam:** i found your collection of new york time puzzles  
**youknowwhoiam:** i know you’ve been filling those out ever since  
**youknowwhoiam:** you were like 14 or whatever according to the dates

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** idk what youre talking about

 **youknowwhoiam:** hm then you should probably be worried  
**youknowwhoiam:** clearly someone broke into the apartment  
**youknowwhoiam:** and planted all those finished crosswords under our kitchen sink

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** yup my thoughts exactly

_youknowwhoiam named this conversation ‘BANE OF MY EXISTENCE’._

**brooklynfisticuffs:** now that’s just rude

 **youknowwhoiam:** poolside  
**youknowwhoiam:** ten minutes

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** knowing your track record  
**brooklynfisticuffs:**  that means i need to actually show up in fifteen  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** right or wrong

**youknowwhoiam:**

****

_brooklynfisticuffs laughed at youknowwhoiam’s image._

.

.

.

“So you said I can ask you anything, right?”

“Almost anything, sure.”

“Okay, so why toys? Why that specifically when you could honestly do anything you wanted?”

“Almost anything,” Tony repeats with an eye roll and a grin. He’s cutting into a stack of blueberry pancakes while he sits across from Steve at one of the tables poolside, still looking adorably rumpled from sleep. He’s wearing another one of Steve’s hoodies, and it makes him wonder if Tony might be doing it on purpose to tease him. “I don’t know how to explain it really. I’ve spent most of my life being told that no matter what I wanted or what I was capable of, I’d always end up working in SI’s R&D for weapons. I used to have this … fantasy of me opening up this quaint little shop with objects you couldn’t find anywhere else. At least not in a typical toy store. Anyway, I’m not blind to the fact that weapons are meant to harm as much as they are meant to 'protect'. I just want to be able to create things that bring joy and not devastation. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” Steve agrees as he squirts ketchup on his scrambled eggs, lips twitching when Tony makes a face at it but his side of the bond still shimmers all the brighter in shades of dusty pinks and rose golds. “Well, if it makes a difference, from what I’ve seen so far, you know with Sharon and everything, I think you’ll be really successful. A true Willy Wonka of toy-making.”

Tony scrunches his nose in confusion. “Willy who now?”

Steve gives him a measuring look. “You know … _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory?_ A comedy/fantasy film that kind of moonlights as a musical, depending on the angle you’re viewing it from. Sam agrees with me but Bucky refuses. He hates musicals but he loves that movie. Anyway, have you seen it?”

Tony shakes his head.

“Remind me to introduce you,” Steve says, reaching for his cup of orange juice as Tony pours himself another cup of coffee (his second so far).

“So how about you?” Tony asks, cocking his head as he eyes Steve in a way that sends tendrils of desire through his gut. “If there was no war, if Bucky wasn’t deployed, what would you be working towards?”

Steve gives a jerky shrug, suddenly uncomfortable with this direction in a way that he’s never been before. “Probably would still try to enlist, put myself on reserve, that type of thing. But if not that, I would, I don’t know, finish school. Actually acquire a diploma t' match the skill set. Then teach. I love teaching. Art, to be specific. Can’t really school on all those other subjects but, yeah, that’s what I’d’ve done. If things had been different.”

Tony lowers his gaze thoughtfully at that, mulling over Steve’s words as his side of the bond swims in contemplative coral colors.

Steve waits to see if he’ll ask more questions about what he just said, but Tony doesn’t. He just begins drinking down his coffee. After a moment, Steve breaks the silence by saying, “How’s FRIDAY? I tried to, ah, talk to her the other day but I didn’t really get anything back.”

Tony chokes a bit on his coffee, flushing as he quickly tries to mop up the mess with the help of some napkins lying nearby.

Steve watches him with concern. “Everything okay?”

Tony grumbles something he can’t really hear before he sighs and lowers his cup of coffee. “So, here’s the thing … you remember that creepy transmission from a few days ago?”

“Vividly.”

“And you remember when you made that joke about being surprised that I wasn’t already looking into it?”

Steve already knows where this is going. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I ... didn’t?” Tony quickly adds, just as Steve is getting ready to make a big fuss about it, “I wasn’t really hiding it from you, I just thought that maybe it would turn out to be nothing, or like some whackadoo living in his mom's basement trying to stir shit up, cause a panic for shits and giggles. So I didn’t want to bother you with it yet until I knew for sure.”

Steve counts backward from ten. “And?”

“And what?”

Steve leans back with a sigh. “What did you find?”

“I … I’m not sure. FRIDAY still hasn’t come back and I’m worried. It’s been too long.”

Steve is plenty concerned about that too. “Could they trace her back to you?”

Tony bites his bottom lip and fidgets. “No?”

“Tony.”

“I know, I know! But, look, FRI is smart. She wouldn't - she would be smart. There are … certain programs put in place to ensure the integrity of her coding remains uncompromised. Theoretically, upon capture, she would know what to do to keep us safe.”

“Are you talking about a self-destruct button?”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Tony replies flatly. “No, it’s more like a … like a ‘force crash’ if that makes sense. Think of it like a - like a quilt with a single thread that's loose, okay? And that loose thread is something you could yank on to unravel the whole thing. It would still all be there, but it wouldn't be a quilt anymore, it would just be a pile of thread. Sorta like that. FRIDAY would revert back to garbled program instructions. It’s a failsafe. But that’s hypothetical. We still don’t - we don’t know that anything is wrong. She could just be delayed or lost or - or - she - she's smart. FRI is smart and - and she's fine. She _is_. It's just - she's probably lost. I should have - I should have written a traceback in her code for her to utilize in case of emergencies. But I will. I will. As soon as she comes back. She'll - she'll find her way.”

Steve can see how worried and upset Tony is about it. He leans forward and rests a hand over the one Tony has fisted tightly around a soiled napkin. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re probably right. I’m sure you can, ah, figure out what happened.”

Tony swallows dryly and nods, looking vaguely confident in Steve’s confidence. His hand relaxes after a while and Steve pulls back to his side of the table. “Yeah, thanks.” He clears his throat. “I, uh … might need to tell you something else.”

Steve kisses his own teeth. “Oh boy. Let’s hear it.”

Tony shoots him a fond look for the span of three seconds before he sobers. He goes into a lengthy explanation about the plasma gun he’s been hoarding all this while.

Steve is … he’s upset about that one. That one seems a lot more dangerous than the FRIDAY thing. “I need to go for a walk,” he decides, wiping his mouth before he stands.

Tony looks a little crushed. “You’re angry with me,” he guesses.

“Not angry, just upset. Let me take a lap to cool down. I promise I want to continue this conversation, I just need … I need to clear my head for a little bit.”

Tony still doesn’t look happy about it but he nods. “I’ll be -” He gestures to the guest house. “You can come in when you’re … at the end of your walk if you still want to - want to talk to me.”

“I do. I will. Excuse me.”

.

.

.

The local park that Steve walks to is nothing like the ones from the city or his old neighborhood. It’s obviously well funded by the rich folks of the area. There are miniature formal gardens for the elderly, intricately designed benches, ornamental trees, immaculate flowers, gleaming water fountains and a small pond that’s stocked with Koi Carp.

The only familiar sight about it was the small sprinkle of kids spread across seesaws, swing sets, and slides. He had never seen a fully stocked park, even in the city. The growing reality of extremely low birthrates was really taking its toll, leaving each generation that follows as thin as the one that came before.

Steve sits down on a polished bench resting on a dual bike/runner’s path and he thinks about Sharon’s theory of climate change and it’s heavy impact on declining fertility rates.

He shakes his head and shrugs off that line of thought to latch on to this situation with Tony, FRIDAY (who is MIA), and the plasma gun.

He’s not sure how long he sits there before he comes to the conclusion that if Tony wanted to continue to pursue the answers for those things, there’s probably nothing Steve can do to stop him. So the best thing is going to have to be him being supportive, let Tony explain himself or his intentions, and at least try and be the voice of reason if Tony decided to be particularly reckless.

Steve smiles to himself and thinks about what a handful his Omega is. Out of all the fantasies and dreams he’s had about what his spouse would be like one day, he doesn’t think he could have ever imagined anything as spectacular as Tony.

His pocket vibrates, and he answers, without even looking at the screen, “Hello?”

“ _Steve, why you got the whole house spilling tea on all available surfaces?_ ”

Steve feels his face burn, knowing exactly what Sam’s referring to. Still - “I don’t know what you're talking about. I haven’t noticed stains or messes.”

“ _Oh fuck you!_ ” Sam laughs. “ _You know what I’m talking about. Really, Steve? The dining room? In front of the salad?_ ”

“There was no salad,” Steve grumbles, blush deepening.

“ _And to think! I thought Tony was so tame. It’s always the quiet ones like they say. I ain’t even surprised about you though. I been knew you were a freak, Mr. Nasty._ ”

Steve rolls his eyes.

“ _So, what’s up? You wanna explain to me why you two are providing soap opera-ish entertainment worthy of a Daytime Emmy to the live-in staff? Or should I guess?_ ”

“Yeah, right. I'm not falling for it. Like Bucky hasn’t already said.”

Sam snickers. “ _What you mean? I hate that guy, I would never g-gossip about you w-with h-him!_ ”

Steve snorts a little at the way Sam can barely finish that lie without laughing.

“ _Okay, yeah, damn it. He told me. But, look, his emails always give me life. That man need to be a fucking ... columnist or something. His literary bitching is legendary. And you can quote me on that. Now go ahead and enlighten me. I wanna hear straight from the horse’s mouth_.”

“ _Horse?_ Flattery will get you everywhere, Sammie.”

“ _Get to talking, fool._ ”

Steve tells him everything, even going as far as telling him all the things that Bucky doesn’t know about yet.

Sam is thrilled, not only that Tony and Steve have finally started to get their emotional shit together, but also because he now has the conversational upper hand with Bucky.

Steve doesn’t mind, he never does when he tells one of them something before the other, and that person ends up telling the other anyway. They share everything together. They’re best friends, brothers, family.

“ _Listen,_ ” Sam says after it’s all said and done. “ _I didn’t mention this in my response email to Bucky, but, you know how Riley and me like to check in on the Barnes Family? We went that way, you know, for a lunch thing. Knocked on the door, thinking Becca was gonna answer, or hell, even Mama Barnes, but guess who it was instead._ ”

Steve white-knuckles the phone in his hand. “Please don’t tell me that son of a bitch was there.”

“ _Yes, the fuck, he was. Sitting up in the house on the couch like he paying the motherfucking rent and being an actual provider. George was blasted by the time we actually sat out on the back deck for lunch. Made Becca and Mama Barnes do all the grilling and shit. I wanted to throw hands but Becca begged me not to._ ”

Steve leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees as he rubbed tiredly at the corner of his eyes with his free hand. “Bucky’s gonna be pissed. Last time his pops tried to come around and weasel his way back in … you’d think a broken collarbone, knee, and nose would be enough to put him off.”

“ _I’m saying. Fucker deserved more for what he’s done to the three of them in the past. He must’ve heard Bucky was deployed_.” Sam pauses as if weighing his next words. “ _Steve … Becca had a black eye. And some bruises on her arms._ ”

“We need t' kill him,” Steve decides, straightening because he's suddenly so pissed. His blood is boiling. “She’s _fourteen._ We need t' kill him.”

“ _Riley thinks we need to try and convince Mama Barnes to file a restraining order._ ”

“She could file a thousand and it still wouldn’t be enough. Piece of paper’s not gonna stop scum like him. Sam, you know that. You _know_ that.”

“ _I do, but, well, you know how Riley is. He believes in the justice system, god help him. Don’t get me wrong, I understand where he’s coming from. That’s just his upbringing, but sometimes he’s a bit … he don’t understand it the way we do. Not really. I’m trying to get him there._ ”

“He means the best.”

“ _That he does._ ” Sam sighs and there’s a blanket of silence that covers the conversation for a few moments. Then he breaks it by saying, “ _One of us is gonna have to break the news to Bucky. Rock, paper, scissors?_ ”

Steve huffs wryly. “No way. Out of the two of us, he listens to you best. Matter of fact, so do I. You’re our voice of reason.”

“ _I’m the Angel on ya’ll shoulders. Guess that makes you two my Devils._ ”

Steve smiles at that.

“ _I gotta go. My OG is expecting us. She wanna do the whole song and dance for Father’s Day since Riley and I are gonna leave before the holiday actually happens._ ”

Steve forgot Father’s Day was coming up. He’s glad Sam mentioned it. He needs to buy something for his Ma. “Alright. Take care, and give everyone my best.”

“ _Can do. I’ll see if Riley and I can’t grab your mail for you to bring on the way home._ ”

“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”

“ _Love you, fool._ ”

“Love you too, chump.”

The line disconnects.

Steve sighs and pockets his phone, thinking over everything Sam just said about Bucky’s degenerate, abusive drunk of a father, and his reappearance after all these years. He finds himself thinking back to those nights when Sam and he had to rally around a weeping, injured Bucky, who’d gotten into yet another confrontation with his Alpha father, all because he’d been trying to protect his Ma.

But then Bucky grew into his own, wasn’t so easy to push around anymore, didn’t flinch when his pops got all up in his face, frothy in the mouth, and Bucky stopped stopping himself from hitting back. Then one day, the three of them had gone to Bucky’s house to finish a ROTC project, and found George holding Mrs. Barnes's head down in the toilet, trying to drown her, a toddler Becca crying in confusion from where George was making her watch from a bathtub filled with cold water. Becca’s lips and hands had damn near gone purple.

Bucky snapped, and hurt George so bad that if the cops and the paramedics hadn’t came when they did, he’d have probably killed him. Steve sometimes wished he had, no one in the neighborhood would have blamed him, they were all well aware of the Barnes Family’s tumultuous history. So much so that the cops that arrived on the scene didn’t even think twice about ignoring the claim and the charges George had tried to press against his own sixteen-year-old son. It had been brushed off as self-defense.

While George was being escorted to the ambulance in handcuffs, Sam and Steve had to hold Bucky back while he screamed that he would fucking murder that goddamn son of a bitch if he even looked in their direction, let alone set foot on their doorstep ever again. The Alpha hadn’t been back since, but now that Bucky wasn’t around … Christ.

Bucky is going to be beyond livid when he finds out.   

A screech of a bike skidding across the gravel path, followed by the thud of a body and a mangled swear cuts through Steve’s thoughts. His gaze whips to the side to a beautiful red-haired Omega on the ground near an upturned bike cradling her skinned knees.

Steve is on his feet and walking over before he even gives himself a chance to really think about it. “You okay, ma’am?” he asks, keeping some distance, not wanting to make her feel cornered.

The Omega’s lips twist in a wry half-grin. “Had better days,” she admits. “Though I guess I should count myself lucky that the humiliating tumble I just took only happened in front of an audience of one.”

Steve huffs, figuring she must not be too badly injured if she could be that spotlessly sarcastic. “Well, you give me a moment, I’m sure I can rustle up a crowd. Seems selfish to keep something like this all to myself.”

The woman laughs, looking caught off guard by his brand of humor. She eventually calms down into a light chuckle as she tries to struggle to her feet.

Steve quickly reaches out to catch her as her knees wobble under her, causing her to stumble. He shifts his feet, trying to keep his balance as he places his hands on the back of her upper arms. “Whoa, easy. Here, let’s get you sitting on this bench. How’s your head?”

“Throbbing but I’ll live. Boy, the guy at the bike store is going to give me an earful. He kept insisting I needed to buy a helmet.”

“You should’ve,” Steve agrees, though not unkindly as he takes a step back once he’s sure that she's comfortably propped upright on the bench. “Knees are looking a fright I’m afraid but I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Thinking a few bandaids and maybe some bacitracin will tide you over.”

The Omega suddenly looks amused. “Bacitracin,” she repeats slowly. “Right.”

“How’s your ankle? Anything feel broken or dislocated?”

“Just my pride.”

Steve chuckles. “Nothing t' do for that, sorry to say. You got someone you can call?”

“No one who’d answer or come.” She shrugs and offers a hand. “But where are my manners? Natalie Rushman.”

Steve accepts the hand. “Steve Rogers.”

Natalie’s eyes dart down to his Bite for the flicker of a second and then back to his eyes while she draws her hand away. “Well, whoever you have waiting on you is certainly lucky.”

“Trust me when I say I’m the lucky one, but thanks all the same. You sure you’ll be fine? I could call you a cab or something.”

“I’ve got the bike, it’s fine. It’s a waste anyway if I don’t ride the damn thing for longer than five minutes after all the trouble I went through to rent it.”

“Ah, yes. Enduring bike safety lectures is no small hurdle.”

Natalie smirks, her eyes flashing with sharp amusement. “You are genuinely funny. But also new around here I’m guessing. No offense, but you don’t exactly strike me as the type that’s from this area. For one thing, you’re way too nice.”

“Ah, no. From Brooklyn,” Steve admits with a faint shrug. “On vacation. I’ve got friends out this way.”

“And your wife? Is she from here?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, he’s from the city. Same as me.”

“I see,” Natalie murmurs with shallow curiosity.

Steve, strangely enough, suddenly begins to feel like he’s being led by the nose in this conversation. She’s probing, he realizes, though to what end, he’s not sure.

Natalie, whose eyes haven’t left his face, cocks her head slightly and gives him a half-smirk, teasing and seductive, widening the space between her knees in a way that teeters on the edge of indecent.

Ah. Well, that explains that then.

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you. I should head home,” Steve announces, shifting uncomfortably as his cheeks go a little pink. “I hope the rest of your biking goes smoothly.”

“Thanks. I hope to see you around. Who knows. I might even run into your husband. Small town.”

Steve isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with that, so he doesn’t really reply. He gives a jerky nod before he waves one final time and walks away.

He can feel her gaze burning in the back of his head the whole time.

For some reason, it puts him in mind of the strange man in the black suit from a few days ago.

 _Once is an accident,_ Steve thinks to himself. _Twice is a coincidence._


	14. YEAR 1: PART VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - this doofus had more to say i guess
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> warning: this is tooth-rotting sweet, like mushy, seriously this will fuck with your sugars

Steve doesn’t really let himself even think twice when he stops at a quaint little edible bouquet stand on the walk back to the mansion. He purchases a small bouquet of licorice rope in colors of green, red, purple, and blue. He thinks about what he wants to say to Tony as he watches the ambiguous Beta manning the stand structure the candy rope into the shape of familiar flowers. 

The Beta wraps it with tinted waxed paper, tying it off with a white thread before handing it over proudly.

Steve thanks them for it before continuing his journey back, and fifteen minutes later he's there.

On his way through the house, he stops by the kitchen to put in a request for chamomile tea before he makes his way out the back to the guest house. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous by just entering, so he knocks and waits. 

Tony answers, blinking in surprise when Steve gently presses the candy bouquet in his hands. “Uh … what?”

“For you,” Steve explains, smiling slightly at Tony’s awed confusion. “Didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked and I wasn’t gonna make an ass of myself trying t’ figure it out either. But I still wanted you to know that you’re special to me. I noticed you really liked candy and I thought I could win some middle ground with that.”

Tony looks at him for a long moment, and normally that would have made Steve anxious, but this time, he’s not worried at all. Because Tony’s side of the bond is exploding in fireworks or candy apple reds and cotton candy pinks. 

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm kinda getting the impression you like 'em.”

“Yes,” Tony manages to choke out, eyes a little misty. “Thank you. They’re - this is - no one has ever - _god,_ Steve.”

Steve has to quickly shift his weight when Tony’s body slams into his for an enthusiastic hug. He laughs a little, wobbling to counter their weight so they don’t fall in a tumble, but quickly sobers when he notices the way Tony is trembling. “Hey, honey, what’s wrong? You’re shaking something awful.”

Tony clutches him close, keeping his face hidden in the grove of Steve’s neck and shoulder. He mumbles, “I thought maybe you might not ... come back.”

Steve’s heart cracks open and he finds himself squeezing Tony tightly. “I'll always come back to you,” he whispers gravely. “Always.”

Tony nods quietly against his neck, clinging to him a little while longer before pulling away with a vibrant pink hue splattered across his face. He steps back a little more into the doorway to compose himself, looking both elated and embarrassed. He takes a moment to eye the candy bouquet in his own hands with curious eyes before he looks to Steve with a small smile. 

Steve returns it without a moment of hesitation.

Tony clears his throat, fidgeting shyly. “How was your walk?”

“Interesting. Helped this woman who toppled over her bike at the park,” Steve replies, thinking back to it before dismissing it altogether. It’s not important. He gazes at Tony and thinks that, yes, that look on his face right now,  _that's_ what's important.

“So, uh, are you still upset about, you know, things?”

“Not really. Not anymore. The walk helped me clear my head enough t’ sort my feelings out.”

“Oh.” Tony fidgets again like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “That’s good.” 

A yawning silence stretches around them for a few beats.

“I’ll be honest and say that I don’t want you hiding things like that from me anymore,” Steve simply says, just like he’d rehearsed in his mind on the walk over. “It doesn't matter if it seems like it’s nothing, or not a big deal, or worth even mentioning. I want to know about it. Silence doesn’t keep you safe, Tony. It won’t keep _us_ safe.”

Tony fidgets in the doorway, looking properly chided. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” he replies quietly.

Steve shakes his head. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t,” he counters. “I want you to feel comfortable enough to tell me anything.”

“Then I want the same,” Tony volleys back and Steve nods his concession to that particular point. “So … does this mean - what does this mean?”

Steve huffs with wearied humor. “It means you’re going to walk me through your logic about all this, and I’m going to try and follow it as best as I can. I want to help you, but you’ve got to help me.”

Tony lifts the candy bouquet to hide his grin behind it. He says, “I think I can work with that.” Then he reaches out to tug Steve in by the sleeve, all at once bursting with excited, manic energy. He bulldozes Steve into the living room and onto the couch.

Steve takes note of how Tony’s tools are haphazardly placed on the living room floor and furniture. Tony’s laptop is hooked up to his tablet on the coffee table. He watches in fascination while something that looks like a prototype model of an oddly shaped drone floats above the screen of the tablet in a holographic display.

“Okay, so.” Tony claps his hands together after locating a cup to drop his candy bouquet in to rest on top of the mantle of the fireplace. “Where should we start?”

“The plasma gun.”

“Right.” Tony drops his hands to his hips as his expression turns thoughtful, calculating. “Point-blank? I don’t feel comfortable knowing that these are the kinds of weapons being floated to the criminal underworld.”

Steve nods and encourages him to continue as he sits back to listen.

“I have this … theory, I guess you could say. Every time I come across a problem that I know I can solve, it’s up to me to solve it.”

Steve can somewhat understand the mindset. “Why?” he asks anyway.

Tony fidgets, tugging absentmindedly on the strings of Steve’s hoodie.

Steve tries not to think too deeply about how much he enjoys seeing Tony wear his clothes.

Tony finally says, “It’s up to me to do something because - because …” He exhales and straightens his shoulders to look at Steve directly. He continues, “When you can do the things that I can, but you don't, and then the bad things happen? They happen because of you. If … if I just sit back while chaos rules the streets of New York, I’d be no better than the ones causing the chaos.”

Steve takes that in, turning it over in his mind before he realizes that that particular sense of honor and duty is something they both share - the drive to do the right thing, no matter the cost. “Okay,” he says. “So what are we going to do?”

Tony smiles tentatively before he wanders away to reappear with a whiteboard on wheels, the face of it filled to the brim with all sorts of mathematical equations. He takes the time to erase everything on it while saying, “So I mentioned Miles and Gwen have been helping me try to figure out what the composite materials of the gun is made of, right? We’ve been narrowing it down to some basic factors.” He’s walking around as he talks as though he’s looking for something.

Steve watches him go, always fascinated by the confident and focused person Tony becomes when he feels completely in his element. It’s like watching art being created in real time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how enchanting he finds it. 

“What we were able to conclude - aha!” Tony drops to his knees suddenly and pulls the plasma gun from under the table to hand it over to Steve, who carefully takes it, relying on his knowledge of gun safety.

A part of Steve wants to scold Tony about his carelessness, but he thinks he’ll save that lecture for later. Right now, he concentrates on the weapon in his hand and the words of his Omega.

“Yeah, so go ahead and take a gander. Where was I?” Tony backtracks to the whiteboard and uncaps one of the markers before his face clears and he begins scribbling hurried words like he’s trying to move as fast as his brain. “Right, so, what we were able to conclude is that this metal isn't exactly pure. Though it’s not like it contains the three principal varieties of commercial iron either, you know, like cast iron, pig iron, or wrought iron.”

Steve watches him draw lines, connecting each category to each item he lists and finds it only slightly surprising that he’s able to follow what Tony is saying. Mostly because he’s done metal work for experimental art pieces, and he teaches on it from time to time.  

Tony faces him while he continues, “Given that the proponents aren’t made up of what I just listed, we tried ruling out other types, like steel containing various degrees of carbon compounds of, uh, well, let's say silicon, sulfur, carbon, and phosphorus. Also a dead end." He aggressively crosses it out on the board. Then continues, "We tried factoring in recyclable tin materials, as foolish as it sounds, but we’re scientists so every variable must be considered. Anyway, we ruled that out and shifted to copper, debating if it’s possible that it’s been alloyed with nickel and zinc. Surprise, surprise - that theory didn’t hold out for long. 

“Then we tried rationalizing if the base materials might have been crafted with various types of acid but the finishing results aren’t conducive to unavoidable patterns of tarnishment. We went through all the elements: aluminum, mercury, for obvious reasons, gallium, and iridium, non-oxidising materials. Nothing. Nada. Zip.”

Steve can hear the frustration in his voice, and though he’s not quite a man of science, he supposes that maybe Tony and his friends had been too close to the problem to see the obvious solution. He could be completely wrong, but he's willing to give his theory a shot. “Stop me if I sound stupid, but, if what determines the make of the weapon can’t be pinpointed to anything known here on Earth … then maybe it’s … not?”

Tony, who had been nearly pacing a hole into the ground, freezes suddenly and turns a wide-eyed ‘eureka!’ sort of stare onto Steve. “Is it weird that I find you absurdly hot right now?”

Steve scoffs with a wry half-grin.

“God, why hadn’t that occurred to me? Of course!” Tony sprints back to the board, erasing everything on there before scribbling out different mathematical figures and periodic numbers. 

Steve carefully puts the plasma gun down on the coffee table by Tony’s laptop. 

Tony takes a step back and takes a picture of the whiteboard. “Sending this off to Miles and Gwen to see what they can dig up via the dark web about alien tech,” he explains while he does so. Satisfied, he pockets his phone and faces Steve again. “Whatever we figure out, we’ll give to the proper authorities. That’s gonna be a whole other thing. I don’t exactly have much faith in the New York justice system. So … maybe the CIA? Or … hmm. I don’t know. But, at least we have that somewhat squared away.”

“Okay. So what’s next?”

Tony wanders over and plops down beside him on the couch, nearly upsetting Steve from his spot. He grabs his tablet and holds it up so they can both look at the holographic display of the drone prototype. “The search for FRIDAY has got me thinking about ways to trace her without drawing too much attention to myself. The safest option would be to send a virtual nano-bug to scour the telecommunication network for her.”

“Is that what this is?” Steve asks, eyeing the hologram with interest, and, when Tony makes no move to stop him, he reaches out to rotate it this way and that way with an impressed sound.

Tony grins as he watches him, preening. “Yeah, that little guy there and all its siblings are like my virtual minions or hunting bots. I give them a whiff of FRIDAY’s base code and they launch onto any signal of hers kinda like heat-seeking missiles. They’ll ride the waves of data without drawing attention to themselves. On the outside, it’ll just seem like some pesky ad for ‘hot singles in your area’.”

Steve laughs a little at that, more than familiar with that type of clickbait. “That’s clever, Tony. I like it. And if you’re sure it’s safe, I approve. Not that you need it.”

“Not really,” Tony teases, brushing their knees together to take the bite out of his words. “But it’s still nice to have. Especially from you.”

Steve smiles at the way Tony looks at him with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows while his side of the bond blooms in healthy shades of purples and pinks and reds. It fills his chest with warmth to be reminded that this incredible Omega loves him. He can’t help but stare.

Tony’s brown eyes shine brightly in a mix of light and dark, reflecting the energy and warmth of the sun. Those eyes, so big and beautiful, so much emotion held inside, seemed to smile constantly just for him.

It makes Steve’s chest tight, crammed with so many feelings of love and adoration, leaving no space for air almost. He says, “I love you. God, I love you.”

Tony inhales sharply, caught off guard, that surprise biting off the edge of the grin that had started to form before Steve had said that. His fingers go lack with it, dropping his tablet clumsily, and it hurts just a bit when it hits Steve’s thigh but he doesn’t care. He’s only got eyes for Tony. 

“I do,” Steve insists when Tony continues to stare at him. “I’m gonna start saying it often, just so you know. Might explode if I don’t.”

“We - we wouldn’t want that,” Tony breathes, looking absolutely smitten. “Love you too.”

Steve’s smile widens and he knows he looks ridiculous but he can _feel_ the truth of Tony’s words in his voice and from his side of the bond. He grabs Tony’s hand and kisses the back of it tenderly while Tony’s fingers twitch in that grasp as he gazes at Steve with such wonder.  

A knock on the door breaks the moment.

“Think that's the tea I asked for. One sec.” Steve kisses Tony’s hand one final time before he stands to go and retrieve it. He thanks the housekeepers, make it more personal by addressing them by their names, which they beam at him for before dismissing themselves. He stalks back to the living room with the tray. “Can I tempt you?”

“Always,” Tony replies with a soft grin, smug about the way it gets Steve to go a little pink. “Though I prefer coffee.”

“Don’t I know it?” Steve mutters as he clears the coffee table for some space for the tray. He focuses for a moment on making Tony a cup, adding as many scoops of sugar as Tony requests with no hesitation or judgment before he hands it over. While he’s making his own cup, he says, “You mind if I ask what you were working on the other day? You looked like you’d been wrestling with some finally aged soy sauce.”

Tony laughs at that and burns his tongue because he does it mid-sip. “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes.”

Steve sits back with his cup of tea with a concerned grin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I'm no stranger to third-degree burns at this point.” Tony lowers the cup away from his mouth slightly so he can blow on it. Then he says, “After I finished with my phone and my tablet, I got kinda restless with our fight. I wanted to take my mind off of things. I sort of wandered out to the garage and noticed there was a motorcycle in there that looked like it hadn’t been touched in a while. Figured I would, I don't know, give it a tune up after I cleared it with Riley. He said if I could fix it, I could have it.”

Steve is unsurprised by Riley’s casual generosity, being on the receiving end of it multiple times. “Would you even know what to do with it?” he asks slyly.

Tony tosses him a look before sniffing and lifting his nose. “I don’t like what you’re implying. Of course I know what it’s made for.” Then he adds, in a mutter, “I just don’t know how to actually use it.”

Steve snickers between sips.

Tony rolls his eyes but he shrugs. “I heard you might though,” he continues, tracing the tip of his index finger thoughtfully over the rim of his teacup, glancing over at Steve coyly.

Such a simple gesture shouldn’t make Steve feel so weak in the knees or make his heart gallop double-time or his gut clench in desire. But it does. “I - ah … yeah.” He pauses to clear his throat and flushes when he nearly fumbles with his cup of tea. “I might be able to - to give you some pointers.”

“I think you know I’m not looking for pointers,” Tony huffs and takes a moment to blow again on his tea, and Steve's eyes stray to how much fuller Tony's mouth becomes while he does it. “I’m asking you to take me for a ride.”

Steve chokes on his next sip, quickly grabbing his nose when some of the hot tea rises up to his nostrils.

Tony cackles, holding his cup away from his body as he does so as not to spill any of the hot liquid on his lap.

Steve mutters, “Christ, that _stings_ \- what?” 

Tony grins sheepishly after a while, watching him as he grabs a few napkins nearby. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make it sound like a - like a _come-on_. I was being sincere. Honest.”

Well now Steve just feels embarrassed, and he goes pink all over as he accepts the napkins from Tony when they're handed over. “Yeah,” he says faintly, wiping his face. He clears his throat. “If that’s, ah, what you want. I could take you - take you somewhere. Anywhere.”

Tony smiles at that, cocking his head as he turns so they are fully facing one another. He brings his leg up a bit, his knee brushing Steve’s thigh as he rests his elbow on the back of the couch so he can prop his chin on his hand. “The bike is on the deck in the back of the house. I didn’t want to make a mess in the living room, so.” He shrugs. “Anyway, when I’m done, you can - we can - I don’t know. Maybe go into town? I’m feeling a little stir crazy.”

Steve understands the sentiment because it’s the same for him. Even with all the walks that he’s taken, he still feels a bit confined. “I’d like that,” he agrees.

“It’s a date,” Tony remarks, aiming a wider grin at Steve, inspiring in him a feeling of something similar to soap bubbles popping in his chest. “Dora -”

“Dora?”

“Dr. Skirth. She’s Dora now that we’ve gotten drunk together.”

“Ah, naturally,” Steve chuckles fondly.

Tony shrugs and after a few tentative sips of tea, continues, “So she rung the house a little bit before you came back. She got our results back, all normal and in the clear.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, no baby for us.”

“Hm, next time maybe.”

Tony barks out an exasperated laugh before slapping Steve's arm as he grins through his next sip of tea. “Okay, you aren’t funny,” he says between chuckles.

Steve just gives him a vague flippant gesture that Tony snickers at.

“Anyway,” Tony drawls with an eye roll that makes Steve want to kiss him with a lot of tongue from top to bottom. “She also invited us to this anniversary luncheon she’s hosting for her parents at the Virginia Beach Clubhouse. I told her I’d talk to you about it first but I don’t see why we couldn’t go. What do you think?”

Steve smiles a little, thinking how nice it feels to make plans with the person he’s in love with, and the thought that they could do stuff like this for the rest of their lives makes him smile wider.

Tony snorts into his next sip of tea. “Say something, weirdo. You’re staring.”

“You’re just that pretty, honey.”

A beautiful rosy flush spreads across Tony’s cheeks as he emits a wave of mouthwateringly pleasant floral-scented pheromones. “Not so rough looking yourself,” he mumbles shyly. 

Steve gets a little pink and his mouth softens into a more half-grin that seems to inspire the color of different tones of burgundy from Tony’s side of the bond. Ah, it seems Tony is particularly fond of when he grins that way. He makes a mental note of it.

Tony clears his throat after a while, diffusing some of the tension. “So, yes or no? About tomorrow.”

“Yes. Is there a dress code we should follow?”

“Actually I’m glad you asked. Have you ever been to a high society function before?”

“Closest I’ve ever been is Sam and Riley’s wedding.”

Tony nods. “Well, there are certain … rules to it. For one thing, we’ll have to dress as similarly as possible, mostly the coloring. It’ll communicate that we’re a unit -”

“Family,” Steve firmly interjects.

Tony tries to give him a stern look for the interruption but it’s ruined by his struggle to fight down an amused smile. “Yes, I know, thank you. But that distinction is _important,_ Steve. They won’t hear it if you refer to them and theirs as anything _other than_ a unit. Our goal here is not to make waves.”

“Right. You’re right, sorry.”

“It’s fine, lamb. I get it. Just trust that I’m an authority on this, and I want to be sure you don’t walk in there blindsided. Same team, right?”

Steve smiles. “Same team. Always.”

“Sap.” Tony snorts when Steve doesn’t bother to deny it. “Also, you’re going to be addressed a lot. Like a lot. You’re my Alpha, so you always get the first and last word in the conversation. Technically I’m not encouraged to speak until you acknowledge me during the conversation.”

Steve’s face twists unhappily about that. “Charming, truly.” 

Tony snorts. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he tries to assure while he shrugs. “Maybe we shouldn’t go,” he decides after a while.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to -”

Tony waves off his concerns. “No, that’s … I mean we’re supposed to be laying low anyway. If we went, we could probably risk running into someone that would blab about us to my parents.”

Huh. Yeah, Steve hadn’t even thought to consider that. “Guess that settles that then.”

Tony nods as he finishes up his tea, placing it back on the serving tray on the coffee table to swap it out for his phone. He spends a few minutes silently texting.

Steve finishes up his own tea before pouring himself a second cup. “Did you want a refill?” 

“Hm? Uh … no. I’m good,” Tony replies distractedly. “Hey, you really like tea, huh? What’s that all about?”

“Ma and I used t’ have tea parties when I was growing up. It was my favorite thing we used to bond over. Never really broke the habit of drinking it. Kinda still into how it makes me feel when I do, y’know, like I’m six again, not a care in the world.”

“That’s … really sweet.” Tony tosses him a soft fond smile.

Steve shrugs with a smile. While he settles back after he’s sorted out his tea, he says, “Forgot to mention this, but I talked to Sam - well, they texted me the other day to say they should be around sometime tonight. I should’ve asked him while we were on the phone earlier.”

“Dinner,” Tony answers shortly, still texting away on his phone. Then he wraps up whatever he’s doing to put his phone aside to give Steve his undivided attention. “Riley texted me too. They’ll be bringing what he says is what Sam terms as 'a beautiful arrangement of Taco Bell, beers, and Monopoly’, end quote.”

Steve snickers a little. “Yeah that sounds like something Sam would say.” He shakes his head fondly. “Bet that chump didn’t tell me on purpose when we talked. Knows I can’t stand playing Monopoly with them. They cheat so damn much, and I always get crushed because I haven't figured out how they’re doing it.”

“How does it all work. Describe it to me.”

Steve spends about thirty minutes explaining how Monopoly works while they tear through Tony’s candy bouquet, a swatch of colors showing up in a mixed combo on their lips and tongue. Steve has this passing thought where he wonders how sweet Tony would taste if they kissed right then and there before he lets it go like a clumsy child that’s lost their balloon at an all too busy carnival. He shakes his head and returns his attention outward, focusing again on explaining the street rules of Monopoly.

When it’s all said and done, and Steve is confident that Tony understands the mechanics of the game, a thoughtful blanket of silence falls over them.

After a while, Tony breaks it by saying, “You said they always cheat?”

“Exclusively.”

“Well, who’s always the banker?”

“What?”

“Between the three of you guys, who’s always the banker?”

“Riley. Why?”

“Because that’s why.”

Steve thinks back and curses his own obliviousness as Tony laughs at the emotional journey his face must be going through.

“If rich people aren’t good at anything else, we are especially talented with money laundering. We’ll have to insist that either you or Sam be the banker. It’ll either put us on equal footing or give us the edge we need. We’ll also maybe want to discuss some sign language we can do to communicate without them knowing …”

For the next hour and a half, over multiple cups of tea, well mostly from Steve, Tony switches back to coffee, and endless (sometimes hilarious) attempts of subtle signals and gestures, they pretty much have tonight’s Monopoly game figured out.

Steve personally can’t wait to give Sam and Riley a taste of their own medicine. He says as much after the right pause in conversation before he asks Tony if he can use his bathroom.

“Yeah, it’s back through there. Watch out for Mercury though.”

“Mercury?”

“There’s a spider in my bathroom.”

Now Steve is really confused. “Did you want me to kill it?”

Tony gives him a very put-upon sigh. “No, Steve. Mercury  _is_ the spider. And while, yes, we had a rocky beginning, we've grown beyond it and now have a mutual understanding.”

“You have a … a _mutual understanding_ with the spider in your bathroom whom you call Mercury?”

“Are you just gonna keep repeating everything I’m saying?” Tony asks with an amused grin. “Yes, lamb. We have a mutual understanding. He kills all the bugs that freak me out and in return, I don’t squish him flat like a home invader. It works.”

“Yeah because why wouldn’t it?” Steve mutters with a fond shake of his head. “We are not bringing him home, just so you know,” he insists because part of him feels like Tony would certainly try that angle. He really hopes Tony doesn’t ask because he has a hard time saying no and that’s a power that does not need to be abused. He says as much when he exits the bathroom just as the lunch they ordered arrives.

Tony laughs as he goes to retrieve it this time and returns to the couch with a tray filled with blueberry rice pudding and toasted sliced-sourdough, shredded corned beef sandwiches. 

They decide to utilize the TV above the fireplace, and Tony puts on _Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory_ at Steve’s request. They watch it from where Steve is sitting dead center of the couch with Tony folding his knees towards his chest, toes dangling off the edge as he leans into Steve’s side.

Steve will sometimes glance over just to watch the way Tony sometimes buries half of his face under the neckline of his hoodie to smother a laugh at Willy’s antics or the obnoxiously insensitive way the Oompa Loompas do a whole musical when a child is in jeopardy. It tempts him into draping his arm over Tony’s shaking shoulders to pull him just a bit closer, the Omega barely noticing as it happens. 

“I kinda feel like I should be insulted that this is who you’re modeling me after,” Tony says when the credits roll, but his eyes are bright with good cheer. “Though if I am going that way, maybe I should build some robotic Oompa Loompa’s to do a whole song and dance when a child steps even a toe out of line in my store.”

“Magnanimous,” Steve muses.

Tony snorts and shoves Steve lightly. “Fancy word there, Mr. Rogers.”

“I know a few.”

“I bet.” 

A comfortable silence falls over them as they glance back to the TV to continue watching the credits as they roll.

Tony yawns suddenly and stretches in a way that makes Steve’s mouth dry. Then he says, “Wanna take a nap with me?”

“Yeah, but no funny business,” Steve replies with a sly smile.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m not the one to worry about. I think we both know that.”

“Maybe so.”

Tony snorts and drags him to the bedroom where they do actually do nothing more than curl up together in a swaddle of soft sheets.

Steve loves every second of it.

.

.

.

Steve wakes to the flash of a phone camera and instinctively aims a middle finger in its general direction. 

“Oooh, yeah, that’s a good one. Bucky’s gonna love that one,” Sam says from somewhere near the doorway.

Steve lifts his head to glare groggily at his grinning best friend. 

“Aight, now you ain’t even gotta look at me like that. We tried calling ahead but neither of you were responding. I see why, though.” Sam’s gap-tooth grin never falters once. “Come on, get up before the food gets cold. TB never tastes as good as it does when it’s fresh. If I’m gonna wreck my stomach, I’d rather it be while my food is still edible.”

Steve snorts and gently coaxes Tony, who’s still draped over Steve like a human blanket, awake. 

Sam wanders off to leave them to it.

“‘time is it?” Tony mumbles as he rubs his face back and forth against Steve’s chest with absentminded scenting.

Steve smiles at that and threads his fingers through Tony’s hair, liking the way it gets the Omega to purr and melt like putty in his arms. “Not sure,” he answers after a while. “But Sam and Riley are here with the food, and Sam insists we need to get to the table as quickly as possible to avoid running into Taco Bell’s short shelf life.”

Tony grins with lopsided amusement as his eyes remain closed.

Steve feels the familiar lightning quick desire to kiss Tony thunder through his entire body. He satisfies it by pressing his lips to Tony’s brow, his mouth stretching in a smile when Tony sighs and leans more into it.

It’s ten more minutes before they manage to separate and extract themselves from the comfortably warm nest of sheets and pillows.

Sam and Riley are already helping themselves to the food in the dining area of the guest house when Tony and Steve joins them. 

After a few beers, light conversation, and a large consumption of American fast food, Sam breaks out the Monopoly game. 

It takes Tony and Riley six minutes of playful negotiating about who should be the banker before they mutually decide on Sam, which is Steve and Tony’s plan all along.

An hour and a half later, Tony and Steve own all railroads, all utilities, and everything from Kentucky Ave to Boardwalk exclusively. 

“Hold on, hold on, hold on.” Sam has his hands raised in a ‘everybody just freeze’ gesture. “Let me see something real quick.”

Tony sits back, dice still in hand, and crosses his arms as he watches amusedly while Sam counts the spaces on the board from where Tony’s game piece is.

“Aight. Cool.” Sam pulls back and looks at Tony with a sober expression. “I’mma need you to roll either a five or a nine.” Everyone but Sam starts cracking up. “Nah, ya’ll I’m so serious. This man don’t ever land on any of my property. How you just _never_ land on someone’s property? It’s not even statistically probable.”

Tony shrugs with a coy grin. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Steve smiles when a wink is aimed his way.

Sam says, “Nah, I wanna start over.”

Steve laughs at that. “Play it through to the end. Isn’t that what you always tell me when I complain? How the tables have turned.”

Sam scowls at him as he takes another pull from his beer. “I swear to god if you land on Free Parking again, Tony, I’mma know something.”

Riley shushes Same and gestures for Tony to take his turn with a humored smirk.

Tony rolls. The dots on the dice send him to Free Parking where he collects the six grand in fake money that had been idling under the board just accumulating up until that point.

Sam makes an outraged sound and flips the entire board over and gets up to walk away, sending everyone into hysterics. 

“Let me go grab him, make sure he’s okay,” Riley bites out between laughter. He stands and wipes the gleeful tears from his eyes to go and retrieve his glowering husband. 

“He’s not really upset is he?” Tony asks when he’s able to settle down.

Steve scoffs. “He’s being dramatic. He’s not really that mad.” 

Tony nods and smirks. “We got them pretty good though.”

“Better than good. They were only a few hundred dollars away from going bankrupt. As many times as I’ve been there, I’m savoring it. I have no pity.”

Tony snickers and cocks his head to look at him fondly while his side of the bond blooms in shades of pinks and reds.

Steve finds himself smiling over it. 

Sam and Riley reappear with a tray of donuts with rainbow frosting impaled with sparklers.

“What’s all this?” Steve asks as they make room for it on the table.

Sam says, “This is a dual celebration. One half for PRIDE this month …”

“… and the other half because we were able to get the local sheriff to serve both of your parents,” Riley finishes.

Tony sits back with an expression of disbelief tinged with a bit of nervous hope. 

Steve can’t quite believe it himself, not that he ever doubted Riley’s capabilities or anything. It’s just a little hard to process that they’ve won the first of what will probably be a long string of battles.

Sam, ever perceptive, nudges Riley and says, “Show them the pictures.”

“Oh. Right.” Riley fishes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up the photos before handing the device over to Tony. 

Tony takes his time going back and forth between the string of pictures showing the startled expression of his mother and father while they are at one of their social clubs surrounded by colleagues as a uniformed officer reads them the riot act before handing the paperwork over.

Steve feels no pity at all over it.

Tony says, “Is it weird that I want to frame this?”

A ripple of laughter spreads through the room.

“So, we don’t have to hide anymore?” Steve asks after they all settle down and start partaking in the victory donuts. 

“We got what we need,” Riley confirms before he shares a certain look with Sam. He continues, “However, there’s no rush if you wanted to finish out the rest of your week here. We can book you a flight home for midnight on Sunday.”

Steve kinda misses home. It’ll be nice to go back. But still - “I’ve already put my PTO in. Might as well make use of it.” He looks at Tony. “If it’s okay with you.”

Tony nods easily to confirm. 

“Great, that’s settled.” Sam takes a few minutes to chew before he continues, “Now, tell me how you guys did it.”

Steve chews as innocently as possible as he replies, “Did what?”

“Cheat.”

“Who cheated? Everything is all above board here. Just because _you're_  prone to _-_ ”

“Oh, no, no, no! See this what we _not_ about to do. Admit you cheated!”

“We didn’t, as I said.”

“Wow. Are you really gonna sit there, eating the donuts I bought for you, and lie to me like this? Damn, Steve. You should’ve told me you just graduated from Clown College with your PhD. I would’ve brought the Cognac.”

Steve flips him off while Riley and Tony laugh.

Sam goes on to say, “I feel like going to the movies. Anyone else up for that?”

Riley briefly lifts his hand as he crams another rainbow donut in his mouth.

Steve notices the way Tony nods eagerly as well, and he suddenly remembers that it’ll be Tony’s first time. He can’t possibly say no. He doesn’t. “What’s playing?”

“Let’s see …”

“No horror,” Riley says between bites.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘fraidy puss,” Sam retorts and his body jolts into a laugh when Riley pinches him on the ass. 

“Tony should pick,” Steve remarks, reaching for another donut.

Tony shoots him a look for that, but Riley nods while Sam shrugs his agreement. He says, “ _Pokémon?_ ”

“Seen it,” Sam admits. “But I could watch it again.”

Tony shakes his head. “Less fun that way. _Aladdin?_ ”

“ _Aladdin!_ ” Sam crows in agreement. Then he wanders over to grab Riley by the shoulders and shift him from side to side like Riley is some kind of steering wheel or something. “ _Aladdin! Aladdin! Aladdin!_ ”

“Now you’ve got him chanting,” Riley huffs as his husband continues to monopolize the movement of his body. “You know ... I can’t call the Uber if you keep trying to give me vertigo, babe.”

Sam just chants louder and shakes him harder.

.

.

.

Riley has Sam purchase their tickets on the way, both of them ignoring when Steve tries to make a fuss about it, choosing to instead listen to Tony, who thanks them and doesn’t argue. Steve should have known things would turn out that way and will probably always end up like this when Tony is involved. 

Tony, ever mindful, decides to soothe some of his more prideful ruffled feathers by saying, “Hey, wanna see something cool?”

Steve blinks and watches as Tony creates some condensation on the window via his own mouth before using his own fingers to draw an annoyed looking stick figure.

Tony then points at it with a mischievous grin. “That’s you, grumpy.”

“Looks more like unwanted character assassination,” Steve states flatly with a mock frown. But it doesn’t hold long, not when Tony grins all the wider. It makes Steve smile, feeling himself falling in love with Tony all over again and he doesn’t even mind the way Sam and Riley snicker at their antics. He says, “You should add yourself.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s no me without you,” Steve says as quietly as he can. He needs these words to be just for Tony.

Tony’s response to his remark is to turn his head away to hide the soft smirk and blush that spreads across his high cheekbones. He wordlessly adds more condensation to the window before drawing himself with a crown.

Steve thinks the self-portrait is pretty accurate to how he feels about Tony as well.

They end up curbside to the theater not long after that.

Steve is suddenly grateful that they bought tickets in advance, especially when it helps them skip the long lines upon arrival.

The concession stands beckon them and they are powerless to resist. The aroma of fresh popcorn, nachos topped with jalapeno infused cheese, and hot dogs permeates the air. It’s one of Steve’s favorite mix of smells since it reminds him of happier times.

Tony looks beside himself with glee when they approach the brightly colored rows of candy, and it's that look of giddy excitement alone that encourages Steve to buy Tony anything he asks for. Tony doesn’t really ask for much, just a red and blue slushie they can share, and a pack of sour gummy worms.

Steve gets one of the bigger buckets of popcorn, confident in his ability to finish it all by the time the movie comes to an end. He also doesn’t doubt that Tony will try and help with this venture as well, so it all works out.

After everyone has a good amount of napkins and straws, the four of them head to their designated stadium.

It’s not until they're entering it does Steve realize that this particular theater has been renovated. 

The refurbishment is kind, tasteful, and elegant. Though the chairs appear old, they are bespoke, designed to reflect the style of classic cinemas. The curtain that falls in generous pleats of thickest red velvet with deep burgundy tassells lends grandeur to the screen it’s currently concealing.

Sam leads their little pack up the steps to the back row all the way up to the top, using manners to shift past the people already seated, all of them rising and sitting like a wave while their group shuffles over to their assigned seats.

Riley and Tony sit on the outside with Sam and Steve in the middle. 

Steve smiles at the way Tony can’t seem to sit still while the previews begin, his body fidgeting with elated excitement. His dark eyes move quickly over the screen like a hummingbird zipping from flower to flower. 

Eventually, Tony notices. He shifts his head to grin at Steve. “Screen’s that way, Cap,” he points out unnecessarily.

“I noticed.”

Tony rolls his eyes and leaves him to his staring as his cheeks fill with color. He makes quick work of unraveling his candy so he can chew on a sour worm or two.

Steve, likewise, shifts his attention to the screen and eats handfuls of popcorn, happy to note that its the right blend of buttery and salty. 

The movie trailers are all so action-packed. It takes a moment for Steve to digest such compressed drama: muscle-bound heroes, celebrities with less clothing than what’s socially acceptable to wear to a kid’s birthday party, and weapons that would make a commando drool. 

Steve thinks they must have spent hundreds of rounds, blown up an area half the size of New York and done it all with that slightly distant air of emotional aloofness the great stars pull off so naturally. All those trailers give so much away that Steve barely sees the point in buying a ticket to the real thing. He whispers as much to Tony who snickers and playfully shushes him before stealing some of his popcorn.

When the opening _Disney Studios_ logo appears, the movie theatre auditorium becomes a buzz of excited talk before it settles down into awed silence when things officially begin.

Tony looks transfixed by every scene and every song, and Steve can’t help but watch Tony while he lives in the moment. He misses eighty percent of the plot for that reason alone. With his popcorn gone, and Tony monopolizing their slushie, he has nothing to keep his hands preoccupied.

The temptation of faking a yawn and casually draping his arm over Tony’s shoulder can no longer be ignored. He goes for it.

Tony snorts without taking his eyes off of screen but he leans into Steve without much of a fuss. 

Steve naturally takes that as an invitation to press his lips to the side of Tony’s neck, smirking slightly when Tony is barely able to suppress a shiver.

Quietly, so not to draw attention probably, Tony murmurs, “And just what do you think you're doing?”

Steve lets his lips travel from his neck to the side of Tony’s mouth, and the two suddenly had a frighteningly clear view of each other's eyes. Tony's soft brown eyes glints with the light from the film as Steve whispers, “I think I'm making this movie a whole lot more interesting, that's what.”

Tony snorts but he turns his head to press their mouths together.

Steve fully intends to keep it short, sweet, and chaste, keeping in mind that Tony wants to go slow.

Tony, however, seems to have different plans.

They completely skip the innocent and simple kiss to jump to a full opened-mouth, enthusiastic tongue loaded one, much to Steve's startlement, though it’s a pleasant surprise. Or maybe it shouldn’t be since Tony always seemed to be up for a heavy makeout session whenever he happens to be in a _really_ good mood. His first time at the cinema definitely qualifies for that category.

Whenever Steve had kissed his previous partners, they'd always started out slow and only occasionally moved the passionate stuff for a more private venue, which he didn't complain about. 

It’s, in a unconventional way, engrossingly exhilarating and – no, no, he can’t think it, he shouldn’t think it, not now of all time, not … no, no, oh, goddammit, okay what the hell – sexually electrifying. It’s something that Steve has never really, _truly_ experienced with anyone else _but_ Tony. It’s thrilling, grounding, terrifying, wonderful, and everything in between. 

Tony groans softly and deepens the kiss as he shifts more towards Steve, nearly climbing over the armrest between them to press closer. And, well, after that, things began to blur at the edges, encroaching further and further to drown out the little voice that tries to remind Steve that they are in a public place, that there are kids, that this is _not_ going slow. But eventually, that small voice becomes hidden behind a veil of lust – pure, unadulterated lust that crackles under his skin, swims in his blood, and writhes in his mind. 

“Yo, ya’ll better settle down over there before I make it rain orange soda,” Sam hisses between his snickering.

Tony slams back into his seat, blush curling over the tips of his ears to spread to the rest of his face. His eyes are still a little wild with his lust and Steve knows he probably looks no better, his face feels like it might melt. But he sits back all the same and faces forward again, nudging Sam when he won’t stop chortling about it, muttering about how he can’t wait to gossip with Bucky about what a horny teenager Steve has become.

Steve tries to be annoyed at all the ribbing, but he’s too busy grinning at the way Tony bravely, but subtly, threads their fingers together under the cover of darkness while they watch the rest of the movie.

The bond dances between them in a kaleidoscope of sparkling of reds and pinks and wine colors for the rest of the night.

.

.

.

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** still up?

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah   
**youknowwhoiam:** working on the nanobugs   
**youknowwhoiam:** got an idea for it after you walked me to my door

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** do you need a break?   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** we could sit by the pool for a little while   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** if you’re up for it

 **youknowwhoiam:** sure   
**youknowwhoiam:** why are you awake   
**youknowwhoiam:** definitely past your bedtime :)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** cute :)   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** sam and riley are kinda going at it   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** loudly

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol   
**youknowwhoiam:** poor lamb

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** yes have pity on me 

_youknowwhoiam laughed at brooklynfisticuffs’s ‘yes have pity on me’ message._

**youknowwhoiam:** poolside   
**youknowwhoiam:** 5 min

_brooklynfisticuffs loved youknowwhoiam’s ‘5 min’ message._

.

.

.

“My Heat’s coming up,” Tony announces as they sit on the edge of the pool at the deeper end with their pants rolled up to their knees so they can lazily kick their legs back and forth in the cool, chlorine-scented, illuminated water. “Just realized, thankfully.”

Steve feels butterflies dance in his stomach and his chest at the thought. He concentrates on how one of the jets feel as it pushes an aggressive stream of water through the toes of his left foot. 

“I can feel it starting, just a little,” Tony goes on to say as he leans back on his elbows, and Steve tries not to stare too hard at the lean lines of his body or the perfect thickness of his thighs. “I don’t think it’ll really hit until Thursday though, so we have some time. That’s … I mean, if you wanted to help me? I know I said I wanted us to go slow. I’m probably giving you whiplash and -”

“I want whatever you want,” Steve gently interjects when he notices how nervous and self-conscious this discussion is making Tony. “You set the pace here, honey. I’m happy to follow you wherever you need it to lead.”

Tony grins softly at the moon for a moment before he glances at Steve. “What if I wanted … what if I wanted your knot?”

Steve goes zero to a hundred real quick on a scale from how turned on he is currently. “I’d give it to you,” he breathes as his face goes hot; a match for how pink Tony’s face is as well. “I’d give you anything you’d ask me for.”

Tony nods shakily, sitting up quickly to turn his face away, hiding his expression for a moment as he tries to gather himself. 

Steve uses that pause to calm himself down as well. It’s a feat, but he’s eventually able to dial and wrestle back the anticipatory feelings of arousal.

A companionable silence drifts over them.

Steve breaks it by saying, “I guess we could still go to Dr. Skirth’s party after all since we don’t have to avoid the general public anymore.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound before glancing his way. “We really don’t have to. You didn’t seem too excited about all the rules we had to follow.”

“Ah, well.” Steve rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m curious, if anything. One day we might, I don’t know, end up at a fancy affair due to unavoidable circumstances. I’d rather take a crack at it now than later. Practice makes practical.”

“As you always say,” Tony adds with a fond grin. “Are you sure? Really, we could do anything else.”

“You’ll look after me. I’m not worried,” Steve promises with a sincere smile.

Tony laughs a little at that. “Oh, I’ll protect you from all the uppity old biddies,” he replies. “And the peacocking Alphas, the entitled Betas, and the sticky children.”

Steve doesn’t miss the way he doesn’t reference Omegas in all of that. Either way, he supposes he’ll witness the whole song and dance for himself. He says, “Tell me more about your nano-bug.”

Tony does, and happily at that. He talks with his hands, the moonlight pressing in softly around him as the light from the pool illuminates each facial expression in a bewitching way. 

It’s a feast for Steve’s eyes, and there’s nothing to do for the gluttonous way he stares at Tony, so he gives into it. He could spend all night listening to Tony. He nearly does before he remembers that they should probably be well rested to take on tomorrow’s events. He says as much to Tony.

“Guess so,” Tony agrees with a soft sigh. He stalls for a moment or two before he stands to his feet, offering a hand to Steve.

Steve takes it and lets Tony tug him up as well. There’s a moment where he’s close enough to count Tony’s ridiculously long eyelashes and he gets suspended in the desire to kiss Tony’s neck. He doesn’t.

Mostly because Tony is already leaning forward to kiss him softly on the cheek before folding him into a hug. He’s shaking a little bit.

Steve makes a concerned sound, cupping his hand over the back of Tony’s neck and sliding his other hand up and down the length of the Omega’s spine in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

Tony mumbles something against his shoulder.

“Ah, one more time but with a little less shirt in the way?”

Tony huffs and pulls back a little so they can be face to face. “Stay with me?”

“I am with you. Where would I go?”

“No.” Tony shakes his head with a wry grin. “ _Stay_ with me. Don’t go back to your room.”

“Oh.” Steve really actually likes the sound of that. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

Tony shivers in relief. “I can’t sleep without you,” he admits, going slightly pink with the confession. “I’ve tried and I - I can’t. I’m really tired.”

Steve has noticed the bags under his eyes but he had assumed it was a choice. Now that he knows … well, he’s definitely on board with rectifying that. “Let’s go bed. I sleep better with you too.”

Tony eagerly drags him to the guest house, and they curl up together for the rest of the night.

It’s the best sleep Steve has had in days.

.

.

.

Steve wakes up early enough the next day to appreciate how it feels to be the little spoon, to have Tony curled up against his back, pressing his forehead in the space between Steve’s shoulder blades while he twitches with his dreams. His side of the bond is like a light show, as always, and Steve closes his eyes to savor the moment.

After a while, he gropes around for his phone, careful not to disturb or wake Tony. When he finds it, he turns his focus on fielding all the text messages he has from family and friends. He’s particularly interested in the photo that Sam forwarded to him. 

Sam is really good at stealth photography. He’s captured the moment when Tony is thoroughly enjoying his double scoop of cookie butter ice cream that one night they all walked along the Pier. Tony is mid-walk, an impish grin on his face while Coney Island sparkles behind him just out of focus. His eyes are as big and beautiful as ever, and he seems to be looking at something fondly out of view of the camera.

Steve squints and then realizes that the look is being directed at him. He remembers exactly where he had been standing when this picture was taken. Though he’s not really seen, there’s no mistaking who Tony is looking at like that and it warms him completely to the core to know that he can coax such a soft, loving expression from his Omega. God, how had he not seen that before?

Steve smiles and spends minutes upon minutes just studying that photo down to the last detail. Eventually, when he’s able to locate his heart (it had fled up to another galaxy in all the commotion and excitement), he shoots a ‘thanks’ back to Sam, and without further thought, he sets the picture as the background for his phone, lock screen and all. He’s never wanted to do anything like that before, but of course, with Tony, it’s all different, all new, and exceptional in every way.

A notification pops up not long after that to let Steve know that his battery is on its last legs. He tries to look around for a charger, but can’t locate one. He hates to have to do it, but he nudges Tony to ask.

“Hm?” Tony hasn’t bothered opening his eyes. “S’matter, lamb?”

Steve smiles. “Nothing. Sorry to wake you but I need a charger.”

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles before grinning. “But I need to borrow a few kisses. M’short right now. Promise to give back when convenient.”

Steve smiles and gives him three chaste kisses on his lips. “Good?”

“For now,” Tony sighs with a smile. Then he waves wildly in the direction of the living room. “Charger is … somewhere on the coffee table. Connected to my tablet. Knock yourself out.”

Steve snickers and kisses him on the temple before he climbs out of bed to go hunting for it. It’s exactly where Tony said it would be so he unhooks it from Tony’s tablet to connect to his phone instead. He doubles back to the room to tell Tony he’s going to grab his clothes and his toothbrush but he’ll be right back.

Tony just grunts, waving a dismissive hand before he burrows deeper into the sheets with a rough inhale that Steve likes to imagine is because he’s comforting himself with the combination of their scents. Steve sometimes does that from time to time - he likes the way they smell together, if that makes sense to say.

Steve shakes off the thought and exits the guest house, jumping in surprise when he notices Sam is floating lazily on a largely inflated pink flamingo, iced coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He’s wearing swim trunks that match with the flamingo float and Steve isn’t surprised in the slightest. 

“Creature, is that you? _Ahh_ , so that’s where you were. Babe, look. Stevie’s doing the walk of shame.”

Riley glances up from where he’s sitting at one of the poolside tables with a whole bunch of case files spread out around him and a full pot of coffee. He snorts and gives Steve a friendly wave before diving back into his work.

“It’s not a walk of shame if there’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Steve counters as he approaches the edge of the pool to give Sam the dryest look in his arsenal. “Wouldn’t have had t’ do it if someone didn’t keep me up with all their caterwauling.”

Sam laughs, shameless about it. “So you’re saying I did you a favor? Yeah, no thanks needed. I always got you in that way,” he volleys back as he gives Steve a smug look from over the top of his designer shades. “You’re welcome.”

“I am welcome, always. No need to state the obvious. You still got that weird bird fetish, huh?”

Sam laughs. “Caw, caw, motherfucker. The bird is a beautiful creature in every form, and you not about to ruin my good Tuesday by lies and slander trying to say otherwise.” He ignores when Steve makes gagging noises. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Tony and I are supposed to go to this luncheon in a few hours.”

“Damn, okay, look at you making nice with the locals. Who is it?”

“Skirth Family. You heard of them?”

Sam shakes his head. “We not out this way that often. I prefer the Malibu Estate. Riley likes the cabin in Montana. We’re spoilt for choices.”

Steve nods, unsurprised. 

Riley comes from a very prominent family filled with Senators, Congressmen, White House Reps, so on and so forth. The man himself was on his way to becoming a state Senator in another year. It’s what’s expected, as Sam termed it. 

“What about you two?” Steve asks.

Sam shrugs. “I’m trying to be a sloth at least until dinner hits. Riley’s trying to organize a few of the depositions he plans to conduct for ya’ll case, and I’m probably gonna end up helping him. I know for sure we want to do some mock cross-examinations to get you two prepared for any depo’s that Tony’s folks try and garner, and also for anything that pops up while in court. Think ya’ll be up for that?”

“I would, but I can’t speak for Tony. I’m sure it’s fine, but I’ll ask him anyway,” Steve replies.

“Try and let us know soon,” Riley chimes in from where he’s seated at the poolside table, still elbow deep in paperwork. “We got a car scheduled to take us home in the morning, so really, tonight is preferable.”

“Understood. We’ll let you know before we leave for our thing later,” Steve promises and Riley gives him a grateful smile for that. 

Steve moves on from there, continuing his way to his room to grab his clothes and a toothbrush like he said. On the way back down, he asks one of the live-in staff for an iron and ironing board to be sent to the guest house later on before thanking them and doubling back.

Tony is exactly where he left him. 

Steve checks his phone to see where it’s at with charging, and sees that it still needs a little more time to juice up. Looking at the time, he figures they have an hour and a half to kill before they really needed to get ready.

He decides to use that time wisely, which is why he returns to bed to snuggle up with his husband for every last second of it. 


	15. YEAR 1: PART VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - $5 to the next person that can accurately guess what i'm hinting at in this chapter, new tags have been added ;)
> 
>  
> 
> head's up: this has sam rockwell!Justin Hammer in it - and he's not a bad guy in this 'verse. also tom holland!Peter 
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. hey ya'll, so next week is my birthday so this story will be on a 2 week hiatus as i pursue other interests, thanks k bye :)

Tony wakes to the smell of heated fabric and a wet hissing sound. He groggily lifts his head and scans the room before his frown deepens when he notices that Steve is no longer sprawled over his back like a human blanket. He rolls over to his back with a sigh to rub the heels of his hands against his dry eyes. After a minute or two he yawns and drops them in a careless flop near his waist while he blinks wetly at the ceiling. His body feels pleasantly weighed by the impact of a good night’s sleep. Then his mouth curls as he goes over the events of the past couple days. Sure, it had been a rollercoaster from start to finish, but like all good coasters, the journey had been worth it. He has someone who loves him, all of him, and that security is unlike anything Tony could have imagined.

He spends a moment curling up around a pillow that still smells deeply of Steve while he hides a smile in it as he thinks over yesterday’s events, and what a good day it had been. He thinks that if he had a chance to relive it a few times, he would. Of course, that just makes his brain latch onto the idea of a device that could bring up memories to be relived, and soon finds himself considering the consequences of what would happen if he tried to marry that to time-traveling technology. Monuments of equations and formulas rise and fall in his mind like an empire on the edge of the world, forming into something with great potential before Tony dismisses the ridiculous notions that led him here and lets it all fall to ruin and dust, forgotten.

Another wave of a strong smell of heated fabric cuts into his thoughts, followed shortly by more hissing. Tony rolls out of bed, literally, and pads barefoot out the door and into the small kitchen area where he finds his Alpha listening to a small hand radio while ironing his navy blue suit. Warm feelings of affection overtake him as he spends a moment watching without his Alpha noticing. He lets invisible numbers swarm, unseen, around Steve of things like guestimating the angle and altitude of the sunlight hitting his cheek or determining which combinations of spatial and temporal features he'll need to manipulate on Steve's face to join together to create one of those half-grins Tony loves seeing on him. So on and so forth.

Then, after Steve makes a disgruntled sound about whatever sports game results are being announced, he lifts his gaze and his face lights up with a smile.

Tony’s gut is overrun with butterflies. He catches himself trying to mentally graph the oscillations of them before he shakes his head to return Steve's smile. “Hey, good morning.”

“Good morning,” Steve agrees before giving him the _‘come closer’_ gesture with his index finger.

Tony huffs with an amused grin before he wanders closer with a _‘yes, how can I help you?’_ expression on his face.

“Trying t’ collect a debt owed to me,” Steve explains as he carefully sets the steaming iron aside before rounding the board to get to Tony. He kisses Tony once, twice, and three times, and even as chaste as they are they still manage to make sparks dance behind Tony’s eyes, wonderful little bursts of colors that seem to shiver and make every atom in his body sing. Steve, the polite goof, that loveable, honest lump, pulls away and doesn’t press for more.

Unsurprisingly, it’s not enough for Tony, and he clutches his hands in the front of Steve’s shirt to pull him closer again. He melts in Steve’s arms because the Alpha has a way of kissing him gently, at first, before opening up his mouth and kissing him with tongue so thoroughly that Tony feels it all over, from the top of his head, down to the soles of his feet. It makes Tony feel all tingly as his toes curl against the cool wood floor.

Tony’s not sure how it happens, but Steve’s suddenly got him pressed against the fridge, hitching a thigh between his. 

Steve’s mouth becomes a delightful distraction of wet ( _good - hot - god_ ) pressure against the groove of Tony’s neck and collarbone. His Alpha seems determined to leave a number of marks there, thrusting his hips up into Tony’s; he feels as hard and as desperate as Tony feels. He thrusts up against Tony again as he introduces teeth into the mix of things. Tony's breath stutters out of him, and each telling groan/moan he lets slip out is helping Steve paint targets across the most sensitive parts of his skin, and soon Steve will have found every weakness, every area that will aid in turning Tony to a puddle of limbs.

When Steve bites down suddenly, the sound that crawls out of Tony’s throat sharply is a gasping whine of, “ _Steve_.”

Then there's a rush of cold air and Tony is suddenly left rumpled and bereft.

Steve is on the opposite side of the room like he’s been electrocuted, shame-faced and cheeks rapidly filling with pink. “Christ, I’m sorry, Tony. Didn’t mean to go at you like that.”

Tony is panting, heat pricking at his face. “No biggie,” he chokes out after a while. “I, uh … wasn’t exactly complaining. If anything, I think I was the heavy-handed one.” It's true. His hands had been thoroughly under Steve's shirt, pawing at all the skin there to pull the older man closer.

“We’re both on equal footing with that one,” Steve huffs wryly, eyes shining hotly with single-minded focus. “You smell really good.”

Tony laughs a little breathlessly, heart skipping a beat when he thinks of why that is. “Thanks. It’s the pheromones.”

Steve looks like he wants to laugh a little too but his body is locked up with an aura of ‘ _hunt, hunt, hunt’._

Tony gets chills just being on the other end of it. He’s certain his body must be telegraphing ‘ _come get me, come get me, come get me_ ’ like it usually does when he’s approaching pre-heat. Flushing slightly, he admits, “I like when you kiss me.”

“I like kissing you,” Steve volley backs right away like he doesn’t even have to think about it. 

Tony smiles shyly and straightens. Then he frowns when he hears soft meowing and his gaze darts to his open laptop on the kitchen counter and recognizes the website immediately. He grins and asks, “Are you watching cat videos on YouTube?”

Steve goes pink but he doesn’t deny it. He just says, “Holiday highlight reels. Needed a pick-me-up when I found out the Yankees trounced the Mets. Don’t even want t’ _think_ about how smug Buck’s gonna be when he finds out. Loves when his favorite team thrashes mine.”

Tony wants to kiss him again so bad, but he laughs instead, shaking his head fondly at his husband. 

Steve approaches, looking a little calmer and more settled. “You don’t mind that I used your laptop, did you? Mine is still back in the other room.”

Tony shrugs with a grin because Steve really doesn't understand that he'd give the Sun, Moon, and the stars if Steve only asked. What he actually says, though, is: “Anything I have is yours. Mainly because I assume it works both ways, and if it doesn’t, I’ve got to tell you, that’s not going to deter me from monopolizing your things either way.”

“It goes both ways, Tony, I promise, but ah, I guess that's good to know,” Steve snickers as he rounds the ironing board again to get back to his ironing. This guy. “It explains why most of my hoodies have gone missing,” he adds with a pointed look at what Tony is currently wearing.

Tony just grins slyly, widening his eyes innocently as he tugs on the drawstrings of the black and purple ‘BHHS’ (Brooklyn Heights High School) hoodie. “Could’ve sworn this one was mine,” he drawls.

“I’m sure.”

Tony laughs at the flat look tossed his way. Then he says, “So, we’re going for navy blue, huh? I’ve got the coloring to match.”

“You want me to iron it for you?” Steve asks after he nods his head in agreement.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mr. Rogers.”

“No trouble at all, sweetheart. Go get it and bring it here.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony quips, skipping away just as he hears Steve make a choked up noise in response. He grins a little deviously to himself, making a mental note to explore _that_ a little later. For now, he focuses on tracking down a suit with similar coloring to what Steve has. It only takes him less than ten minutes to do so. He hands it all over to Steve when he returns. “So, listen. I’m married now, and in high society, wearing a tie in public is fashion faux pas. But there’s nothing to say _you_ can’t wear one.”

Steve looks like he has a million questions but what he says is, “I don’t think I have a tie. Not really a fan of them.”

“Understandable, but … you kind of need to wear one to this kind of function. Plus I don’t mind lending you one of mine,” Tony says and then pauses as he cocks his head to really think about it. Yeah, okay, he’s starting to really like the thought of Steve rubbing elbows with the elite with Tony’s tie around his neck like a brand. “Steve … Steve, you really need to borrow one of my ties. The Omega in me will throw a tantrum if you don’t.”

Steve looks deeply amused by that but his side of the bond is bursting with shades of a sunset - all oranges muddled with reds. “We wouldn’t want that,” he reasons sarcastically. “Do I get to pick or …?”

“Already have something in mind,” Tony replies, narrowing his eyes at Steve’s neck before disappearing to retrieve the dark silk red tie. If he spends a minute rubbing it against his scent glands, well that's no one's business really. He fixes his face into something neutral as he presents it to Steve and waits.

Steve flushes. “Isn’t that the one you used to -”

Tony shrugs innocently, glad Steve's focusing on _that_ rather than how it's saturated with Tony's scent. “I have so many ties, Steve. Hard to keep track of them all. I’m going to go take the first shower. You’ll order us some muffins from the kitchen, right? Thanks.” He wanders off without waiting for Steve’s response, internally laughing. He feels optimistic about the day.

Normally, he would dread going to parties and functions with his parents. The anxiety of having to play the ‘Perfect Omega Son’ for the duration of those events was both mentally and emotionally taxing. 

But with Steve, it’s different. It feels new and exciting in some ways, like an experiment for science. There’s no expectations, no obligations, and no worries about shaming the Stark name.

He wasn’t just teasing when he told Steve he would protect him, because it’s true. And he knows that unlike his parents, Steve will protect him too.

Soon, he’s distracted by his morning routine, putting on his face mask while he warms up the shower. In his mind, his brain starts playing around with the sequence code for the nano-bugs he’d been creating to find his girl, FRIDAY. God, thinking about her and how long she’s been gone always creates an unpleasant ache of guilt that expands in his chest. His heart throbs when he thinks about her out there somewhere, alone and confused, sharp slashes of cold panic sometimes flicker in his mind before he fumbles to bring it to a heel.

It takes ten minutes of staring at Mercury's beautifully intricate web resting in the corner above the toilet to calm down completely.

Tony's mind still becomes a hurricane of thoughts when he steps into the shower with his toothbrush. He spends the time he's wetting his hair mentally rotating, flipping, twisting, and turning the nano-bug sequence code in his mind but it still feels like it’s missing one vital thing. He just can’t figure out what it is. He’s been running it over and over in his mind, trying different ways to enter in the data but the sequence always gets rejected, the screen flashing back at him in that annoying ‘ _malfunction! malfunction! malfunction!_ ’ flashing red. It’s frustrating, and even more so now that he thinks about how FRIDAY would have helped him figure it out a long time ago if she were still around. 

Tony is brushing his teeth under the spray of the shower jet when the answer hits him like a lightning rod. He yells, “Steve! Steve! _Steve!_ ”

There’s a frantic crash somewhere in the house before Steve is bursting through the door wielding a metal bat over his head as he looks around.

Tony laughs and nearly chokes on his toothbrush from where he’s peaking from the crack of the sliding shower door. He yanks the toothbrush out of his mouth and spits towards the drain. “Oh my god! _Lamb,_ what are you _doing?”_

“What am _I_ doing? Tony, you were shoutin’ like you were gettin’ slayed six ways t’ Sunday!”

Oh, wow, okay. Steve’s Brooklyn accent combined with that exasperated expression is suddenly something that Tony nearly finds irresistible.

Seriously. He has to check himself before he climbs all wet and naked out the shower to pounce his Alpha and ride him like the best stallion at the stables.

Steve flushes as his nose flares. “Uh, sweetheart, you - you wanna tell me what’s wrong? What are you - what are you _thinking_ about, Tony? My god.” 

Tony blinks and snaps out of his own fantasies. “Horseback riding,” he mumbles dazedly and hopes his irises aren’t as blown as they feel.

Steve stares at him. For like a really long time. Then he says, “Ah that, ah, explains why you smell - you smell like - I … I’m going to step out and put - uh, just - put this door between us for a second.” He does exactly that.

“Does that really help?” Tony asks, eyeing the door curiously.

“ _It’s … something.”_ Steve sighs and it sounds like he’s thumping his forehead against the door, over and over. He mumbling something that sounds like, “ _Damn it._ _There’s no way we’re leaving this house without me scent-marking your clothes.”_

Tony shivers at the underlying dark promise laced in his tone and his Omega hindbrain wants him to preen over driving his Alpha to such lengths. It makes him feel wanted, desired. 

Steve clears his throat. _“So, ah, what’s wrong? Why’d you shout for me? You seem fine. Really fine. From what I saw. Not that I saw a lot!”_

Tony smiles a bit at his phrasing before he gasps and remembers exactly how they even got to this point. “Shit! I figured it out! I need a pen and paper! Quickly, before I forget again, Steve. I need to write this down!”

Steve scoffs fondly, muttering, “ _Alright, alright. Gimme a minute, wouldja?”_

Tony gives him exactly thirty seconds before he opens his mouth to complain but Steve’s already opening the door, shoving said items in his hands. “You are my angel,” he swears, ducking back behind the sliding door for a moment and he tries to chase after all the numbers and symbols jumping wildly in his mind while he attempts to match the speed of it with the pen in his hand. He tries his best to avoid getting everything all wet, but the edges of the notebook are a little damp, though not unsalvageable.

“Don’t worry about,” Steve says when Tony apologizes as he hands it back over. “Let me go put this somewhere safe to dry up. You need anything else?”

“Just you forever,” Tony replies instantly before the rest of him can really catch up and keep that from happening. But it does and Steve kind of gawks at him, which Tony really, at that point, has no point but to go beet red and slam the shower door shut. “Ignore that. You will ignore that. That didn’t happen.”

Steve is snickering, pressing closer to the door and Tony glares at his outline on the other side. “Is this what you’re going to be like for the rest of the week?”

“Steve, I _swear_ to  _god_.”

“No, no, no, seriously. It’s sweet.”

“Shut up. It’s embarrassing. I forgot the lack of filter I have whenever my Heat closes in. You will ignore anything and everything I say.”

“I’m not agreeing to that. You know I love you, right?”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“Tony,” Steve laughs from the other side of the door. “Honey, really, you have nothing to worry about. I’m so gone over you. I like knowing it’s returned.”

Tony fidgets under the spray of the shower jet. “Fine,” he mutters, his lips twitching when Steve snickers. “I’ll be out in fifteen minutes. Muffins?”

“Waiting in the dining room whenever you’re ready for them. Coffee too.”

“Coffee? Coffee.” Tony sighs as he thinks about it. “ _Coffee…_ ”

Steve snorts. “Wow, I can’t wait until the day you can say my name like _that_.”

Tony rolls his eyes with a crooked smile. “Good luck.”

.

.

.

The muffins are still warm by the time Tony has wrangled himself into his nicely pressed suit (which smells pleasantly like Steve, meaning Steve really did scent-mark them).

Tony's still halfway brushing his hair when he walks out to the dining area, cramming half of a muffin in his mouth with his free hand because he's an excellent multitasker. He tries to thank Steve for it all (the muffins, the coffee, how immaculate his suit looks), but bits of muffin keep flying out.

Steve wrinkles his nose adorably. “You’re welcome. Stop talking with your mouth full, heathen,” he playfully chastises.

Tony snorts and just widens his mouth in retaliation, yelping when Steve swats him on the ass on his way to monopolize the bathroom now that Tony is done. Tony goes red all over, a certain thrill racing through him at the contact, and he totally means to complain but his brain waited too long to reboot, and there’s still too much muffin in his mouth and by the time he gets that sorted, Steve’s already on the other side of the closed bathroom door. 

Tony starts to feel that familiar itch of dissatisfaction scratching in the back of his mind, making him restless, and he means to follow through on the code fix he came up with earlier, like totally means to. But the dining room chairs look wrong somehow, in the order they’re in. No biggie. Tony just makes some slight adjustments, swapping their placement for a different feel.

But then the table itself seems off by a few degrees, and well, honestly it would just look better against the wall. Yes, let’s go ahead and, nope - nope that seems wrong too. Maybe it was fine back where it was. Yeah, Tony’s going to put the table back, ignoring how it screeches against the floor when he drags it. Okay. Great. Yup, that’s fine, and _nothing else_ needs to change.

Okay, so here’s the thing, maybe he should just take a quick peek at things in the living room to make _absolutely_ sure.

Fifteen minutes later, Steve is out of the shower, dressed for the day and catching Tony in the act of rearranging the living room furniture for the dozenth time. 

Tony grunts as he pulls the couch back to where it was originally, his face red as he glares at the humored but patient expression folding out on his Alpha’s face. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“I am absolutely _not_ trying to nest.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Everything is fine, Steve. I like the way the - the coffee table looks pressed against the patio doors.” Tony’s left eye twitches almost as much as his fingers do at his sides. “And I definitely see nothing wrong with the bedroom either.”

“Of course.”

“So I’m just - I’m just gonna - gonna look at the fridge real quick. Not to like, do anything with what’s inside, I’m sure it’s fine. I’m thirsty. That’s all.”

“Gotta get a drink if you’re thirsty,” Steve agrees indulgently.

Tony wants to both kiss and throw a soft pillow at him for it. Then he gets distracted by how good Steve looks in his suit wearing Tony's tie so very neatly around his neck and down his chest. He blinks past a few fantasies to glare at a grinning Steve. “I’m not nesting,” he insists.

“I didn’t say anything,” Steve laughs, holding up his hands to show he’s harmless. “Okay, maybe I will say one thing. We’re going to be late if you try and reorganize the fridge.”

“I wasn’t going to do that!” Tony exclaims, even though in his heart of hearts, he definitely _was._  “I’m ready. It’s fine. Everything is fine and right and leveled.”

“Okay.” Steve watches him for a moment with a half-grin. “We’re going to be late, aren’t we?”

“It’ll only just take a minute. Not even a minute. A sec. A whole second, Steve.”

“Right.” Steve sighs fondly as he watches Tony dart to the fridge and starts pulling things out. “What’s Dr. Skirth’s number?”

.

.

.

So, yes, technically they are an hour and a half late, but that’s not Tony’s fault. Who puts orange juice on the same shelf as the eggs? Tony didn’t have a choice but to do something about that. That’s exactly how he explains it to Steve the whole ride over to the Virginia Beach Clubhouse.

Steve just nods in that amusedly indulgent way of his, and Tony is tossed back and forth between wanting to bite his husband or mount him in the back of their limo. Then that just gets him thinking about doing both, and he has to quickly let down all the windows so he can clear his head because the mix of their pheromones is setting his teeth on edge.

Steve seems to understand his need for distraction because he starts asking him to go over the ground rules (the biggest do’s and don’t’s for this function), and it does help Tony focus on something other than his own body and surging hormones. It’s also amusing to watch how confused Steve is about how they aren’t expected to bring gifts, but rather leave  _with_ gifts.

“Rich people like to brag. Best way to do that is with swag bags. The more outlandish, the better. It’s a way to boast about how well-to-do you are to give the best, rather than receive. My parents once hosted a dinner party where they literally gave everyone a choice of owning their own helicopter, or a Thoroughbred.” 

Steve gawks at that.

“Yeah. We’re insane.”

By the time they pull up to the entrance, Tony is a bit more level headed and eager for good food and drinks. Out of habit, he hangs back behind Steve as they walk in but Steve is having none of that. He matches their pace so they can walk side by side like equals out to the outdoor venue area. 

That causes a bit of reaction from the guests spread out like a swatch of pastel colors across the dance floor, tables, cricket area, and the buffet table. People start muttering curiously as they watch Steve and Tony, and it's not necessarily anything that seems rude, just ... gossipy.

Tony tosses Steve a tamed smile, and mutters, “Already making waves, huh? It’s barely even been five minutes.”  

“They’ll have to get over it. You’re not walking behind me, Tony,” Steve firmly remarks and Tony’s insides feel like they’re wiggling around like elated, bouncy jello. God, he loves this man so much. “So what’s next?”

“Well, as I mentioned, we’ll have to give our respects to the host and their family before we even think about heading towards the food. Otherwise, we’d be no better than gate crashers.”

“Makes sense,” Steve supposes. “I’d be pretty sore if my guests ducked by me to stuff their faces as if that’s all they came for.”

“I mean that kind of is, but we all have to pretend we’re better than that,” Tony points out with a slight grin as they head towards Dr. Skirth and her table, which is filled with her parents and their immediate family (though Eddie is missing).

Dora leaps to her feet, smiling widely when she sees them. She takes a moment to shake their hands separately but with equal amounts of grateful enthusiasm. “Steve! Tony! _Shalom!_ Thank you both so much for coming. Please help yourselves to any and everything. Gift packages will be mailed out later this week, just make sure you leave the preferred address you want it sent to.”

Steve thanks her and her parents before wishing the happy couple many more years of wedded bliss.

Mr. and Mrs. Skirth smile amusedly at that, as do the other occupants of the table, before the older couple thanks him.

Steve glances at Tony, who is smiling also. He thanks everyone again before letting Tony drag him to the buffet. “Did I say something wrong back there?”

“Not at all. You’re so nice, Steve. That’s all.” Tony snatches up some gourmet cheese impaled on a crystal toothpick. “Well-wishing really isn’t a thing among this crowd. It’s sort of like a given that things are already going according to the universe's divine plan. Usually, the norm is to give a backhanded compliment. Mm, this is good. Try this.”

“Backhanded compliment?” Steve plucks a piece of cheese and tosses it in his mouth, chewing for a moment before his eyes go wide. “Oh, wow, that’s so … wow.”

“Welcome to the finer things,” Tony laughs with a wink. “And yeah. For example, if my parents were here to pay their respects, my father would have said something like, _‘Virginia, huh? Yeah, I suppose it has its charms. Real rustic feel. Now, **Dubai**. That’s something to see.’_ and then my mother would be all fake and smiley and she would have added something like, _‘Oh hush, dear. Sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know. This venue is quite cozy. Perfect for an intimate gathering. After all, not everyone has a guest list in the triple digits.’_ Insert fake laughter and the sip of some kind of wine or another, and bam. More compliments to yourself than to the actual host.”

“That’s awful,” Steve mumbles around a mouthful of cheese.

Tony laughs and pushes him along the table. “That’s _high society._  Come on. You haven’t lived until you’ve had Shakshuka with feta.”

.

.

.

Tony sits with Steve at a table filled to the brim with preteens, but funnily enough, Dora’s son, Eddie, is acting sort of as an interim-Alpha for the pack as a whole, leading and guiding the conversations at first. Then he just leaves everyone to it, making one of the kids swap seats with him so he can take up space beside Steve so they can continue their love-struck conversation over sports. It makes Tony want to smile and roll his eyes at how much they act like kindred spirits over the whole thing.

Tony thinks amusedly, over his fourth plate of crabcakes, potato latkes, and rugelach, that Steve and Eddie would have kept going for a whole hour if they hadn’t been interrupted. 

Of course, the interruption comes in the most adorable form of a weeping 4-year-old Beta girl outfitted in a huge, puffy dress with glitter in her hair like a miniature fairy princess.

“Aw, Bubby, what’s with the waterworks?” Eddie coos, pulling her on his lap. “My cousin,” is how he explains it to Steve, who is looking curiously enamored by the little girl.

Tony feels something twists inside him at the soft expression expanding across his husband’s face in a splash of friendliness. It worsens when Steve smiles at the little girl when she glances his way with watery eyes, smiling back shyly before ducking her face away.

Steve laughs. “She’s something else.”

Eddie grins, making her bounce on his lap to get her to giggle before he agrees. “Yeah, I’ll say. She’s usually the one t’ make others cry, y’know? Tough as all else most days. S’why I’m surprised she’s in such a fit. Bubby, tell me who did it. I’ll throw them in the chocolate fountain.”

Bubby giggles and pulls her head back. “That’s bad, Eddie. Auntie Dora would spank you like she - like she - like she did last time when you threw Kyle in the pool for - for giving Auntie Dora the middle finger cause she wouldn’t - wouldn’t gives him more of YaYa’s birthday cake.”

“You sure that was me, short stuff? Couldn’t have been. I’d never do something so crazy,” Eddie denies but there’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Tony like the preteen even more.

Steve must feel the same because he chuckles while his side of the bond blooms in shades of goldfish orange. It makes Tony wonder how Steve would be as a father, and then his face gets warm when he realizes what it would take to even get to that point, the conversations they'd have to have, the physical, _ahem_ , aspect, and he has to slam that back before his pre-Heat addled brain can force him into an embarrassing situation. 

“Who did it?” Eddie repeats before he thanks Steve for the napkin he passes over to help wipe the little girl’s wet face.

“I wanted to dance with Mattie and - and -  and so I asked him. But he pushed me and said -  said he don’t wants to dance with no - no - no baby. Says I’ll pro - bub - blee -”

“ _Probably,_ ” Eddie patiently enunciates and Steve makes a wounded sound like the adorableness is physically destroying him and it’s making Tony’s instincts go wild. “He said you would probably what?”

“Pee on him. Cause babies they - they -  they pee and stuff. I tolds him I’mma big girl! I don’t wear a diaper! But he laughed. I’m not a baby, Eddie! I’m not!”

“What? You kidding?” Eddie exclaims dramatically. “Course not, sweetheart. You’re the biggest girl there is! Surprised you’re not driving a car, or filing taxes already, you’re so grown.”

Bubby giggles and playfully knocks a loose fist against Eddie’s chest. Then all at once, her face crumbles. “How come no one wants t’ dance with me?”

This time it’s Tony that makes a wounded sound at that because this little girl is too cute beyond words but it’s painful watching the display of heartbreaking rejection mark the twisted frown on her pretty face.

“Well that’s not true,” Steve suddenly says, ever the White Knight. “I’d love to dance with you, little darling. What d’ya say? You’ll give me a chance to spin you around for a bit?”

Bubby’s face lights up with excited glee and she glances to Eddie for his blessing but he shoots her a crooked smile and waves a dismissive hand at her concerns. “Go and show that stupid DeBlonskie kid just what’s he’s missing,” he insists.

Bubby claps her hands together, climbing down clumsily off his lap before tugging impatiently at Steve’s hands as he chuckles while he lets her.

“Be back,” Steve says to Tony.

Tony shrugs with a smirk. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

Steve gives him a private smile that’s just for him and his side of bond starts to crackle with citrus oranges muddled in a sea of pinks and reds. It gives Tony butterflies and makes his face prickle with warmth because he knows that means that Steve is feeling or thinking about how much he _loves_ him.

 _I love you too,_  Tony thinks as he watches Steve go and join the thick crowds on the designated dance floor. He watches Steve plant Bubby over his feet and begins twirling around as she laughs with such delighted happiness. _I love you more than absolutely anything._

“He’s a good one,” Eddie says suddenly, sliding into Steve’s empty seat so he can be closer to Tony as he speaks. “Your guy. He’s a good one.”

Tony is instantly reminded that Dora’s kid is an Omega like him, because at that moment, when he says it, Tony easily recognizes the Omega-speak for what it is. “Best one, I’d say,” he finally replies.

That seems to relax something in Eddie. “I worry about that sometimes, y’know? Don’t really meet a lot of good ones. I know my Ma says my dad was a good one, but he died before I could understand that for myself. And, well, both my friends, MJ and Harry, they’re not so bad. I mean they can be stupid sometimes, but they listen when I tell ‘em so.”

“That’s good,” Tony says because it is. Growing Alphas, especially when they are in their preteens, can be stubbornly volatile, and a bit rough. Tony’s had a few bad experiences growing up. 

“Yeah, but sometimes I think no matter what I do, I’ll end up with a rotten apple.”

God, Tony would think he was talking to a younger version of himself if he didn’t know better. “I used to feel the same way before Steve,” he admits. He looks over to the older man in question and smiles at the way Steve is dancing with Bubby. “But Steve’s shown me that sometimes, even in a barrel full of bad apples, there’s bound to be one good one meant only for you, just waiting to be found.”

“That’s romantic as shit,” Eddie replies and they both laugh over his phrasing. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Rogers.”

“Call me Tony. Please.”

“Thanks. Call me Mr. Brock then.”

Tony wrenches his gaze from Steve to shoot Eddie a look.

Eddie gives him a shit-eating grin in return. “Totally kidding, Tee. Was only tired of watching ya get all goo-goo in the face looking at your guy.”

“You’re hilarious, Mr. Brock.”

Eddie laughs explosively. “No, no. Please call me Eddie. My Ma’s gonna strangle me if you keep that up.”

Tony just grins.

.

.

.

Steve doesn’t come back to the table as quickly as what he probably assumed, though Tony isn’t annoyed at all because there’s a good reason for that, and that reason is this:

Once all the little boys and girls see how absolutely beside Bubby is with herself just by _dancing_ for two songs with Steve, well, they are provoked to some sort of envy over it and start asking after him. 

Soon, his Alpha has a dance card bursting with different ranges of kids of all ages. It’s quite a sweet sight really, and Tony knows he’s not the only one to think so, based on the way each kid’s parents look on with fond admiration at how gentle and engaging Steve is with their little ones.

Steve is easily winning the hearts of the Skirth family left and right.

Tony is in both heaven and hell over it. Because on the one hand, it makes his insides all gooey to watch Steve navigate with ease with all those kids. But on the other, it needles at something inside him, maybe some age-old Omega instinct that wants him to drag Steve to the nearest room and demand that Steve fuck at least three babies into him. That thought alone makes him a little hot under the collar.

“Hey, I need to excuse myself. If Steve asks, can you tell him I’ve gone to the bathroom,” Tony says to Eddie, who is in the middle of a heated debate with one of his other cousins about what flavor of Doritos are the best.

“Sure thing, Tee. No worries.”

Tony snorts at Eddie’s insistence in shortening his already shortened nickname but he’s not gonna stop him. He thanks the preteen shortly before he wanders off in search of the bathroom. It’s easy to get there and empty his bladder, splash some cold water on his face, and calm down in private. But when he’s ready to join the rest of the world, he gets turned around at least a dozen times, and he has to throw in the towel after a while.

This is why when Tony spots the double doors of the kitchens, he doesn’t hesitate to push them open. That turns out to be a bad idea because he does it carelessly without checking to make sure no one was on the other side of it.

There _was_ someone on the other side.

Tony hears the unmistakable clang and crash of a tray filled with champagne crash on the ground, followed by the thump of a body hitting to the floor with a low groan. He quickly ducks inside to assess the damage, and sure enough, there’s a teenager in the traditional waiter’s outfit sprawled there. “Oh god, I am so sorry! I didn’t give you a concussion, did I?”

The kid’s eyes fly open at the sound of his voice, his doe eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights and, Jesus, this kid looks like a human Bambi or something. Then he goes all pale like he’s seen a ghost and blurts, “ _Dad?_ ” 

Tony freezes and gawks at the kid. “Shit, I _did_ give you a concussion,” he groans as he tries to look around for some ice.

“Uh, no! No, I mean!” the kid’s face is filling with an incredible amount of blood. Tony could almost swear he could feel the heat of his blush from where he’s standing. “I’m fine. I’m fine, I just - just got confused. Yeah. I was confused because I totally know you’re not my dad. Like, that would be weird, right? Impossible. Unless there was like, time-traveling technology or something. Not that I think there is! That would be impossible too! And if there was, why would I have it, right?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, trying to fight back an amused smile. “Sure, kid. No harm, no foul. You can call me Tony. What’s your name?”

“I’m Peter,” the kid breathes, still gawking at him with a mixture of star-struck awe and panicky nervousness. But it’s also weirdly tinged with hope and admiration for some reason. He takes the hand Tony offers to help pull him to his feet. “Peter Benjamin. That's ... my name. My name is Peter, and that's who I am.”

Okay. Tony's not sure why he's making the kid so nervous. “Peter. That’s a nice name.”

Peter looks a little sad. “You - uh! I mean my dad named me after his hero.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound at that as he looks Peter over, wondering silently over why Peter seems so familiar to him. It’s something about his eyes and his chin and that jawline … it’s like he’s seen them on someone else but figuring just who that is, is escaping him.

Peter also has this - this _scent_ about him. He’s obviously an Omega, but that’s not it. 

He smells like … like a mixture of cinnamon spices and peaches and it’s calling to Tony in a way that he can't really explain. It’s almost - almost _maternal_ in a way. Something chanting ‘ _pup, pup, pup - protect, mine, protect’_ races through him, and he has to blink past it as Peter squirms nervously under his gaze. What a weird,  _weird_ thought - feeling - whatever the hell that was.

“I don’t think I was supposed to be here,” Peter is suddenly muttering to himself, his brow furrowing with regret. “You’re meant to be talking to someone else,” he adds quietly.

Tony is absolutely puzzled over it. “You seem to be doing just fine talking to me. Don’t worry, kid. I’m not all that uppity and traditional about talking to the hired help. I mean, I recognize you as a person, is all I'm saying.”

Peter lets out a bitter laugh and smiles at Tony like he understands something about this situation a bit better than Tony does. “Sure. That’s good to know,” he simply says. He stares intensely at Tony like he’s trying to memorize the details of his face. “God, Uncle Phil’s gonna kill me when he finds out. I wasn’t supposed to … this wasn’t supposed to happen. In and out. That was the agreement. God.” Peter sinks his face in his trembling hands. 

Tony could swear Peter was mumbling something that sounds like: “He should have told me that _you_ were gonna be here. God, he must have known I would have tried to find you if I did. But we weren’t supposed to _meet_.”

But ... no that couldn't be. Tony is totally mishearing. 

Peter drops his hands and his large brown eyes are a bit misty. “Sorry. I’m fine. I better clean all this stuff up. Did you - did you need something? Uh ... sir?”

“Well, I was a little lost,” Tony admits, even though his mind is going over how weird this all feels. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to get back to the Skirth party?”

Peter blinks and then his face clears in realization. “Justin Hammer,” he says.

Tony’s back to being confused again. “Listen, I have to say, I’m really thinking maybe we should get you some medical attention.”

Peter snorts but he flushes. “No, I - sorry, I just - have you met Justin Hammer?” he asks suddenly. “Because I really, _really_ think you should,” he says with a little bit of desperation.

“Okay …” Tony drawls slowly. “Not that I don’t think that would be an amusing time, but, I kind of think the guy would have to be here in order for that to happen.”

“He will be!” Peter blurts before his eyes widen in horror. “I - I mean, I’ve uh … I’ve _heard_ that he’s gonna be here. You know, like a - a surprise last minute thing.”

“Really?” Tony doesn’t see why someone like Hammer would show up to an event like this. Though, the media didn’t call the billionaire weapons manufacturer eccentric for no reason. “Does he know someone here?”

“He’s good friends with Auntie - I mean, with, uh, with Dr. Skirth,” Peter stammers, going red with each word that tumbles out of his mouth.

Tony shoots him a narrow-eyed look for it. “You sure you don’t have a concussion?”

“Positive!” Peter squeaks, trying to widen his eyes innocently.

Tony feels his mouth twitch fondly at that.

“Anyway, I think you should totally meet him,” Peter insists again and Tony has to wonder why he’s so adamant about that. “And I can walk you back to the party so you can, ah, you know … do that.”

“Sure.” Tony follows Peter out and they walk the halls in comfortable silence. Though, most of it is spent with Tony pretending he doesn’t notice the way Peter keeps shooting him these little sad looks full of … something Tony can’t quite name. Maybe it’s envy? The kid certainly wouldn’t be working an event like this if he didn’t need to, so maybe Peter is thinking he’s like all other rich people.

“Hey, uh …” Peter waits until Tony’s nodding to show that he's got his attention as they continue their pace before he continues, “Hypothetically … if time travel was possible … would you be selfish enough to do something like … like have a conversation with your father? Even when the fate of the future rests on your shoulders for a different assignment?”

Tony snorts. What a question. And with such a seriously earnest expression too. “See, here’s the thing, I’m like the worst person for you to ask that question because, with that opportunity, I’d use it on everyone else before I’d go and see my dad.”

Peter cringes and looks a little guilty but he recovers quickly. “Right. Right, sorry, it was a dumb question.”

“Different, not dumb.”

Peter suddenly is smiling crookedly at him, all love and warmth packed behind the smile.

Tony is a little taken back because only one other person has looked at him like that with that same expression and bizarrely enough, it’s nearly identical to the way Steve does it to. 

“My sisters say that all the time,” Peter says after a while, his smile still nostalgic. “They tell me all the time it’s something yo- uh, my dad used to say.”

“Your dad sounds like a genius.”

Peter laughs. “He really was. The greatest mind of our time.”

“Ouch,” Tony winces. “Past tense, huh? I’m sorry to hear that.”

Peter’s eyes glisten, and he gives a shaky smile that really pricks at Tony’s heart. “Happened when I was a baby. I didn’t … I couldn’t mourn like everyone else. I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. But I … sometimes I think I still felt like something was missing, you know? Maybe that’s impossible.”

“Could be. But I’ve read articles that claim while babies can't understand the complexity of a situation, they can tell the difference between a parent who is happy and one who is sad. If your family was mourning the loss of your father, you probably felt it too.”

“Yeah,” Peter says softly as he pauses with his back to a glass door that Tony recognizes since it’s the door he used to come inside to search for the bathrooms in the first place. "People used to tell me all the time how much I reminded them of him."

Tony can sympathize when he thinks about Howard. "It's hard living up to someone else. Dead or alive. Makes you feel like a shadow."

"Yeah," Peter agrees, words a little choked with unnamed emotion. 

"I don't think you should worry about it. You seem like a good kid." Tony notices the way Peter preens over that and his mouth twitches a bit in amusement. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’ve yet to answer your own question. You think your dad is worth risking the entire future over?”

“Yes,” Peter blurts quickly like he doesn’t even have to think about it. He’s staring at Tony. “He’s worth every single second.”

Tony doesn’t doubt he means it. Not with that level of certainty Peter seems to have as he gives his answer. “You’re something else.”

Peter blushes over the praise but beams. “Thanks,” he replies softly, sounding nearly choked with emotion again.

“No, thank you for helping me find my way, and for not suing me for giving you a concussion.”

Peter huffs fondly. “You didn’t give me a concussion, trust me. I’m made of stronger stuff than you think,” he swears.

“If you say so,” Tony replies airly, reaching past Peter to open the door, but there’s a confusion of the gesture because suddenly Peter is hugging him tightly. “That's not a hug, I'm just grabbing the door.”

“Oh!” Peter leaps back, looking flustered and embarrassed. “Sorry. Right. Sorry.”

“No worries,” Tony says with an amused smile. 

Peter steps aside so he can open the door for Tony himself. He smiles at Tony sadly. “Bye,” he says with such finality that it kind of needles at Tony as he steps through. 

But before Tony can think to question it, the kid is darting away and out of sight.

.

.

.

Amazingly enough, Peter is right: Justin Hammer shows up out of nowhere at the party.

And the thing is, Tony doesn’t even have to plan out how to corner the Alpha into some intellectual, like-minded conversation. Tony is only interested in pursuing the said conversation with Hammer because of the amusing competition he has with Stark Industries over the weapons and tech market. Hammer has, for the past ten years, kept Howard on his toes, and publicly humiliated Howard once or twice. For that reason alone, Tony would love just five minutes of the eccentric billionaire's time to pick his brain.

Secretly, if Tony could admit, he likes to think that if he’d been born an Alpha, well, Hammer’s showmanship and ‘I’m the smartest person in the room’ energy would be exactly how Tony would behave. In another life, he’d be every bit of the ‘ _genius - billionaire - playboy - philanthropist_ ’ that Justin Hammer is.

Anyway, the point is, that Tony doesn’t have to make a play of getting Hammer’s attention because while he’s making use of the chocolate water fountain while Steve is still cutting up the dancefloor with his kiddie fanbase, Hammer confronts him.

Tony is actually in the middle of skewering a strawberry to hold under the stream of warm chocolate when the Alpha saddles up beside him. 

“Wow, I have to say, that’s a lot of chocolate for one strawberry,” Hammer lightly comments. 

“Haven’t you heard? Experts predicted in 2014 that there will be a chocolate shortage by 2020, due to the issues with cocoa production. I’m trying to make the most of it in the meantime,” Tony snarks back before he realizes who he’s talking to. “Uh …”

Hammer’s cowboyish gait is at odds with the Savile Row suit. There’s a casualness to it that isn't quite right in cloth so crisp. All that was missing was the gun and a ten-gallon hat. But when the man, who is only ten years younger than Howard, opens his mouth it's with a slick Tennesse accent and the hand he offers to shake is manicured to perfection, the skin of his palm battered with the familiar roughness that Tony has himself from extensive use of welding tools. Hammer's face is one of utmost confidence that says, without words, that whatever game this man played he wasn't accustomed to losing. He smiles at Tony like he’s looking at a long lost little brother. 

“Sorry, I thought you were … someone else,” Tony says after they let go of each other’s hands.

Hammer just smirks in amusement, looking more charmed than offended. “Seemed like it, but it’s whatever, kid. Besides, there was no mistaking you,” he remarks, now that Tony is fully facing him. “I didn’t realize the Starks rubbed elbows with the Skirths.”

“I’m not here as a Stark,” Tony replies simply. 

“Really?” Hammer really looks intrigued now, cocky smirk firmly in place. “Didn’t get a wedding invite, little Stark. I’m almost hurt. Then again, Howard is a bastard. He’d go out of his way to make sure I didn’t gate crash.”

“Like how you’re doing now?”

Hammer throws his head back and laughs loud enough to catch the attention of a handful of people. “Still got that mouth on you,” he comments once he settles down.

Tony frowns at that.

“Ah, yeah, you’d be too young to remember. I was twenty-something when I first went toe to toe with your dad. He was at some party bragging about how you’d put together this circuit board. You had to have been maybe four? Five?”

“Two,” Tony faintly corrects as his mind jumps back to the very dinner party he’s speaking of. It’s kind of spotty since he was so young.

“Right, two,” Hammer agrees, snapping his finger along with the word. “Anyway, your old man is going on and on about it, drawing a real crowd in, right? But you’re obviously overwhelmed from all the attention. Your little face was so red that it’s a wonder that Howard didn’t notice you were on the verge of a meltdown. Anyway, I thought since we were all sharing accomplishments, I could bring up how much better my stocks were doing over his during that quarter.”

Oh yeah. Tony had never seen Howard look so livid over the interruption. The sour look he made as he fumbled with his next words were not only enough to get all that attention off of tiny Tony, but it had distracted Tony from bursting into tears like he had been about to. He now realizes that Hammer had purposefully taken up Howard’s ire because the Alpha had been ignoring the obvious signs of his kid Omega’s distress.

“Yeah, he hasn’t invited me back to another shindig since,” Hammer goes on to say, sweeping the moment under the rug in an act of carelessness that seems like he’s trying to downplay the whole thing. Then he’s saying, “So, who’d you get saddled with? If you say Tiberius Stone, I’ll dunk my whole head in that fountain, future chocolate shortage be damned.”

Tony snorts and relaxes enough to say, “I’m not an idiot.”

“Course not. Figured that out real quick when you were still shorter than my knees. But, my god, look at you now. Anthony, am I that much closer to the grave? How old are you? No, don’t answer that. Dora would kill me if I jumped off my mid-life crisis right here and now. So, who is it then? Who’s the lucky sucker?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Even better,” Hammer compliments. “How pissed is Howard, then?”

“That’s personal.”

“Extremely,” Hammer agrees easily. “So are we talking ‘failed flying car of 1989’ or ‘failed flying car of 2012’?”

Tony finds himself grudgingly laughing. “I’d imagine it’s the ‘89 one. Though I didn’t really stick around to see for myself.”

“Well, you turned out better than I hoped. Howard had me worried he was going to make you into a carbon copy. Heaven knows that’s what my old man tried to do with me. But we’ve found a way to outgrow them, didn’t we? Fortunate. Few can. Hey, listen, since you’ve gone and spread your wings, I feel better about giving you this business card.”

Tony takes said card with a curious frown.

Hammer tucks his hands in the pockets of his expensive slacks and glances around for a moment. “Listen, I’m working on this special project, and I’ll be upfront and say that I read your MIT dissertation on the future of clean energy. I think you’d be a good addition to the team.”

Tony isn’t quite sure what to make of the offer, or that a brilliant mind like Justin Hammer wasted his time on reading a paper he wrote years ago. “I - what kind of project are you talking about and what does have to with my thesis?”

“Well, I was especially impressed on your stance of what constitutes for a good housing unit for thermo-nuclear energy and the drawbacks you concluded if palladium was to be considered. Let’s just say that I have firsthand experience of being unable to achieve stable plasma equilibrium. Thought your young eye might catch on to what I might be doing wrong.”

Tony gawks at the older man because he just all but admitted that he’s been trying to stabilize _arc reactor technology_. Not only that but he’s inviting Tony to _assist_ on what be a multi-million dollar project.

“Sit on it, Anthony. No rush to accept, though I know you will,” Hammer says, slapping on a pair of designer shades. “Also, if you see a black man come this way and he looks really pissed, you didn’t see me and I was never here. Toodles.” Then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Tony doesn’t have time to even consider the absurdity of it all before a handsome Alpha wearing the Air Force dress uniform and a firm scowl step into his line of sight. His nametag reads ‘Rhodes’ and he looks like he’s the same age as Steve if not a year or two older.

“You see a dumbass smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth come through this way?”

Tony laughs without meaning to but, hey, that’s a perfect description of how Hammer smiles. “He told me to tell you that I didn't see him and he was never here.”

Rhodes blinks at him as if really seeing him before he grins grudgingly. He seems impressed by what he sees. “Oh, did he? So he _is_ avoiding me. Smart. He must know that when I get my hands on him he’s a dead man. Which way did he go?”

Tony points and Rhodes gives him a grateful nod before he dashes off in that direction.

Steve joins him just as Tony is scratching his head over it all. His cheeks are pink but his eyes are bright, and he seems winded from all the dancing. “Hey, what’s that face for? You look like you’ve just seen Bigfoot skateboard by in a tutu, chanting 'which witch is which witch'.”

That gets Tony to snap out of his musings with a sharp laugh. “ _What?_ ” he exclaims. “How are those even words you are legally allowed to smash together in that order?”

Steve chuckles and shrugs. He still looks at Tony expectantly.

“The CEO of my father’s company rival just offered me a job.” Tony frowns and narrows his eyes when Steve doesn’t even blink. “You don’t seem surprised. Why aren’t you surprised?”

“What do you mean why am I not - Tony, why are _you?_ ” Steve volleys back incredulously. Then he lowers his voice to say, “You made an _AI_ with the laptop I bought from a second-hand store for less than a hundred bucks. With a mind like yours, there’s no door you couldn’t open.”

“Oh,” Tony breathes and feels a little weak in the knees. “That’s - thank you.”

“Not really saying anythin’ that isn’t true,” Steve insists with a soft smile that’s full of pride and adoration. 

Tony flushes as he gets a little wet. 

Steve’s cheeks go a little pink, which means he can smell it too. “Ah, you - you ready to get out of here?” Then, realizing how that must sound, his face goes hot as he quickly adds, “Not that we have to go back to the mansion! We could, uh, you know, go ... somewhere? There’s this bookstore that Mrs. DeBlonskie was just telling me about. Says it’s all charm and novelty. Well, actually she said something really offensive about the lower class but I read between the lines.”

Tony snorts but nods. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a day trip. Maybe they’ll have some comics.”

.

.

.

 _A Likely Story_ absolutely does have comics. 

In fact, the bookstore has a whole floor in it’s lower level dedicated to graphic novels and such. If Tony still had access to the Stark fortune, he would have totally bought this place. There’s so much to choose from.

Steve says something about looking for a specific book to gift his Ma with for Father’s Day before he wanders off to leave Tony to it.

Tony has to admit that he gets intensely hyper-focused on this particular section that some time is lost, but when he manages to pull himself out of it, he has only a handful of Spider-Man comics that are _very_ reasonably priced. He’s pretty happy with his findings and he’s just about on his way to hunting his husband down when an attractive red-haired Omega crashes clumsily in a short wheeled cart perched in the middle of the aisle nearby.

Tony winces out of sympathy because he knows that had to have hurt. “You alright? Is this a situation we should call an ambulance for?”

The Omega chuckles wryly, accepting the elbow Tony offers to help get her to her feet. “Nothing injured but my pride.”

“If it helps, I don’t think anyone but me and whoever watches the security footage saw.”

“Small mercies.” She dusts herself off with a self-deprecating smirk. “Natalie Rushman.”

Tony’s arms are too full of comics to properly shake her hand. He says, “Tony.”

“Just ‘Tony’?” Rushman presses lightly.

“Yeah, it usually works,” Tony merely replies with a humored tone. “Guess I’ll leave you to your shopping. My arms are starting to feel the weight of these. Excuse me.”

Rushman seems disgruntled by his hasty departure.

Tony’s not sure why she would be bothered. But he finds it curious when she tries to keep up with him.

“I could help,” Rushman offers. “To thank you for helping me out.”

“Thanks but no thanks. My husband is around here somewhere.”

That stops Rushman up short. “Ah, I see. Well, you have a good day. Hope to see you again under better circumstances.”

“Sure.” Tony darts away, not liking the eerie vibe that comes off of her in waves. For some reason, he can feel her eyes on him, even after she’s long out of sight. 

Steve is in a deep discussion with the shop owner about the book he wasn’t able to find. They’re standing at one of the closed registers, but the owner has his computer screen aimed in Steve’s direction on the other side of the counter.

Tony ambles over with his haul, smiling when Steve’s face lights up in the way that it always does when he catches sight of Tony after a short period apart.

The shop owner says, “Give me a minute to check the back. I could swear we have it.” and then he’s off.

“You find everything, okay?” Steve asks once they're alone but his side of the bond is swimming in orangish pinks and reds. “That gonna be enough to tide you over? Seems like slim pickings.”

“Shut up,” Tony mutters with an eye roll and a grin. “This is me with self-control.”

Both of Steve’s eyebrows shoot up at that.

“Shut up,” Tony laughs because that look is enough. “What about you?”

“Hard to say. There’s this Beatles cookbook I read about online. I was hoping to find it here but I didn’t with my first walkthrough, and luckily I ran into the owner and we got to talking. He noticed he couldn’t find it either, so that’s why he’s checking the back.”

Tony thinks it’s a clever gift that Sarah is sure to appreciate. He says as much and Steve gives him a smile for it.

The shop owner returns with a triumphant smile, waving the book in the air. “It was hiding in the back like I thought. Sorry about that.”

“That’s fine, I’m just glad you’ve got it.”

Tony grabs the book before Steve can and darts over to the checkout line to pay for everything.

“Did you really swipe my book so you could pay for it?” Steve asks with an exasperated but fond grin.

“Well, you can choose to look at it like that.” Tony accepts the bagged items with a short thanks before he gives it to Steve to carry because his arms are a bit sore. “I'd like to think of it as a team effort. So add my name on it when you give it to her.”

Steve barks out a laugh as they exit the store. “Tony, I would have done that even if I bought it myself.”

“Yeah, you would’ve. You’re too nice to have done otherwise. Still. I wanted to buy it for you.”

“Thank you. But when we take her out for lunch on Monday, let me pay.”

“If you have to,” Tony replies with a cheeky grin, silently taking that as a challenge. He wonders how Steve would react if he monopolized that as well. And that alone is enough to convince him that he definitely needs to do that. “Ready to head back?

“I am if you are,” and that’s such a Steve thing to say.

Tony just smiles and nods.

During the trip back to the beach house, Tony tells Steve about the kid he literally ran into on his way back from the bathrooms and their interesting conversation.

Steve gets this strange look in his eye when Tony mentions how Peter was scenting. He means to ask the Alpha what he thinks but as he’s stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants, his knuckles scrape against the hardstock business card in his pocket, and then he’s suddenly reminded of Hammer’s offer.

Peter fades away from his thoughts, nestling deep in the recesses of his mind, lost but not forgotten.

 


	16. YEAR 1: PART VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - back like i never left, ya'll miss me? nah ya'll missed this story lol i did too tbh

 

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ay yo tony man ****  
**sunflowersandstickers:** listen i need u to hmu when you get this

.

.

.

 _Fuck, I forgot to charge my phone before we left,_  Tony thinks sulkily as he looks at the dark screen acting like a black mirror reflecting his disgruntled face back at him. He had felt it vibrating in his pocket a few times, but by the time he went to look, his device was already powering down. He sighs and slips it into the back pocket of his dress pants, thinking thunderously that had FRI been there to remind him, that wouldn’t have happened.

They’re not even halfway back to the mansion when Tony feels an unexpected surge of nausea that may or may not have to do with the twists and turns the chauffeur elected to take. He had introduced himself as Howell when Steve asked because Steve is polite enough to always ask. 

Howell is a Beta and a shameless Boston Red Sox fan that lives thirty miles outside of Virginia with his small family his whole life (three adopted boys, all trouble but all special) and enjoys woodcarving as a shared hobby with his Alpha husband, whom he met at band camp when they were boys. He goes on to say how back in his day, before all the forward-thinking about Betas being allowed to pair with Alphas and Omegas, marches, protests and such, he and his Alpha had to fight to be together, had to fight their families to stay together, had to fight to adopt, and then had to fight to keep them.

There are other details that are shared back and forth between Howell and Steve, but Tony has long since excluded himself from the exchange. 

His preheat addled brain makes it hard to keep up with the conversation. So he decides to make it easier on himself by not, taking a few seconds to try and mull over Hammer’s offer, weighing the pros and cons of it all. He’s not having much fun doing that so he sets it aside for later, choosing to concentrate instead on not throwing up every time they hit a bump in the road or bend around a particularly sharp twist that presses him either towards the door or towards Steve against his own wishes. 

No matter how many times Tony swallows and swallows, hoping to keep the bile back even while his stomach is lurching, saliva pooling in his mouth in preparation, it’s no use. Also, it’s difficult to maintain control over not puking when he has a pounding, hormonal headache shooting sparks of pain right between his temples, the top of his skull, and down the sides of his neck. Lets not even get into how creaky his lower back feels with wave after wave of cramps. It's his reproductive organs trying to realign itself in a proactive effort to up the chances of pregnancy by forty percent. Sometimes he really hated Omega biology.

Tony quietly groans as they hit another prominent dip in the road. He presses his damp forehead against the cool glass window, just for a moment, before he forces himself to straighten and compose himself. 

Even though it feels like the arctic winds blowing inside the limo with the air conditioning on full blast, Tony still feels a little toasty. He always gets the worst preheat headaches; all those little hormones roaring inside his blood and fraying his nerves. He’s just - he’s feeling really irritated, and the fact that it’s not at anything in particular and yet everything in particular at the same time makes the irritation worse. He’s craving the comfort of soft bed pillows and the swaddling hug of a blanket around his body.

Tony bites back another curse as they drive over another quick bump, and his head pounds just a little harder. God, when those preheat migraines struck, Tony was always it's prisoner, quite helpless in his cage of pain. He’s blinded with flashing colorful spots and finds himself longing for darkness, for quiet and stillness. The pain is throbbing so violently around his skull that he can barely sense Steve’s side of the bond. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, pausing his conversation with Howell because of course he’d pick up on it, no matter how subtle Tony tries to be. 

“More than,” Tony replies shortly.

Steve notices that too. “You sure?”

“Yes.” They hit another dip and Tony flinches.

“Tony.”

Tony grits his teeth for a moment before he replies, “What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. According to you, I’m perfect,” Tony mutters, suddenly feeling hot and annoyed all at once because talking right now is a challenge. He pauses in the middle of unbuttoning the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt when he realizes what he just said. He winces and glances Steve’s way, but the older man is already watching him with this sort of sly, amused smile that makes his face burn and his body warm. “Uh … I’m feeling a little … can you ignore I said that?”

“Not really, but you could probably buy my silence with a few kisses,” Steve simply says and ducks back when Tony tries to pinch his side. “Hey, hey, easy. A simple ‘no thanks’ works as well.”

Tony huffs but keeps trying to pinch at Steve’s sides impatiently. “Oh, you know me. I’m more of a grand gesture sort of - hey, stop - stop blocking me - sort of guy. Now, will you please hold still and let me pinch you like I want to?”

Steve laughs as he holds Tony off as he addresses the driver. “Hey Howell, how much longer until we’ve reached our destination?”

“Fifteen minutes, give or take.”

Tony is instantly suspicious. “Steve, what are you doing?”

“What about by foot?” Steve asks Howell, hanging onto Tony’s wrists with a gentle but firm grip when Tony tries to pinch him again, mostly out of spite for being ignored. 

“Little over thirty, I’d guess.”

“Understood. Thanks.” Steve glances around at the passing scenery. They’re pretty much already back in the neighborhood, just on the outskirts of the community. “Would you mind pulling over? We’ll walk from here, I think.”

“Will we?” Tony gawks as Howell pulls off to the side of the road. “Uh - hang on!” He scrambles to press the button that raises the divider. “Sorry. Excuse us for a moment.” The divider gives them some semblance of privacy. He turns all his attention onto Steve. “Walking, huh? Yeah, so. When did we decide this? Because I don’t remember having that conversation. Seriously, Rogers -”

“It’s motion sickness, right?” Steve replies instead, shrugging off his coat in such a neat way that it nearly makes Tony’s mouth both water and dry. Steve reaches out and puts his cool palms all around Tony’s face for a moment, smiling fondly when Tony leans helplessly into it at first before he comes to his senses and ducks back with a defiant scowl and a light blush. “You need some fresh air. You look about ten seconds away from being sick. I’m calling it.”

“That’s funny since there’s absolutely nothing to call. I’m fine.”

“You look pale.”

“We’re white, Steve. That goes without saying.”

“ _Tony._ ” Steve sighs heavily like he’s trying not to laugh but there’s a good amount of mirth bubbling up in his ocean blue eyes. God, he’s so pretty. Tony wants to kiss him until his pink mouth turns red with the affection. Steve continues, unaware, “I really don’t mind it if we need to slow down.”

Oh no. Tony does not want that. He wants the absolute opposite of that. He’s pretty sure it’s still hotter than sin out and Steve has _asthma_. His Omega hindbrain balks at the idea of putting his Alpha at a disadvantage like that. So many bad things could happen. His protective instincts start flaring up at the mere thought. And nope, there’s no way they’re doing this. Tony could totally survive a little preheat anguish if it meant Steve didn’t have to suffer for his sake. 

“Listen,” Tony begins, already making up his mind about it. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m - I’m just a little hangry.”

“Hangry,” Steve echoes, and he doesn’t so much lift a skeptical eyebrow, or even change the tone of his voice, but even _without_ those signifiers, Tony can still tell that Steve already isn’t buying what Tony desperately wants to sell.

“Yeah, you know when you’re hungry and you're also super pissed about it? Well, that’s me. That’s this. So. Walking, right? Walking isn’t gonna do a thing for that but make it worse. Now, this?” Tony takes the time to pet and stroke the leather cushioning of the limo seats before reaching over to grab one of the chocolate covered mints and pop into his mouth. He chews and exaggerates the noises of pleasure he makes. He swallows even though his stomach protests and uh, okay, he may have made things worse.

Steve is watching him as he struggles to swallow down the wave of nausea that hits him. “Tony?”

“Nope, I’m good,” Tony chokes out before he quickly clears his throat and focuses on breathing through his nose as his head continues to pound. “Ah, see. I think that did something. We don’t have to - we wouldn’t need to walk. This is all - it’s pure heaven to a run down scamp like me. Much nice. Very Luxury.” Steve snickers and Tony thinks, _yes, this is good, I’ve almost got you._  He continues, “Also, didn’t I say I was fine? I’m pretty sure that’s what I said, right? I heard myself say it. So. You know. That’s why I’m telling you that we don’t need to take any unexpected hikes. I’m okay. Really.”

Steve smiles through the measuring look he gives Tony.

And Tony? Well, Tony rides it out patiently, a little annoyed he could feel sweat pooling on the back of his neck and gathering at his temples. It’s possibly deflating his perfectly coiffed hair he’d spent forever on this morning and, nope, nope, he can’t think about it or he will be even more agitated than he already feels. He just hopes Steve doesn’t notice because then it’d be hard to explain why he’s sweating this way when, again, it feels like the arctic winds blowing inside the limo.

Steve glances away, still smiling, and just before Tony can even get the idea that he’s won, he says, “You forget that my Ma runs an Omega shelter and that I’ve dated a handful.”

Shit. Tony had.

Steve looks more amusedly fond than disappointed. He goes on to say, “You don’t have t' be embarrassed, Tony.”

Tony’s mouth snaps shut in annoyance, and he spends a few moments fuming. Then he says, “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not embarrassed about anything.”

“Okay,” Steve merely says and doesn’t press on that topic. “I do think we should walk a little, regardless. Sun’s setting and it’s not as hot out.” 

Tony frowns. “Didn’t realize you were a thermometer,” he mutters childishly, leaning back on his age-old instinct of verbal needling and testing to see if he can get Steve to back off.

Steve doesn’t back off. “Why would I need to be when there are apps for that?” he points out cleverly with a soft grin that makes Tony’s heart do a funny little tango in his chest. “It’s pretty much declining in the lows right now, so we’re not tempting fate or anything. Even for an asthmatic such as myself.”

Tony flushes all the way down to his toes, feeling oh so very exposed under the knowing look Steve aims his way but like _how_ could he have even known what Tony was thinking or trying to do? He knows for a fact that there’s no way that the bond gives that much insight. Oh god, which means that Steve is becoming more intuitive on his own _,_  and just why does _that_ turn him on a little bit?

 _Because it would explain why we always have such incredible sex,_  Tony thinks against his better judgment, and barely finds the willpower to keep from getting wet as he dodges Steve’s patient stare. He keeps his eyes on the red silk cloth of his tie wrapped around Steve’s neck and sitting a little sloppily against his small chest.

Steve continues, “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to walk from here. The neighborhood doesn’t seem _too_ dodgy.” What an awful joke and he looks so proud of it too.

Tony huffs, rolling his eyes, though knowing deep down that its a good call, a _smart_ call, but it makes him disgruntled and just a bit, yes, fine, _embarrassed_ that Steve is going through all this trouble. “I can brave it out. It’s fine, Steve. Fifteen minutes is really … it’s not a big deal. Nothing I haven’t ever had to deal with before.” And wasn’t that the truth? Long stretches on a plane on a path to a country overseas come to mind and how uncaring, how indifferent his parents had been to his agony. They had kept him locked in the bathroom until he could compose himself.

“Yeah, but the thing is that you don’t _have_ to deal with this, Tony,” Steve says with a stubborn frown, capturing Tony’s attention and pulling him from his thoughts before he can continue down that dark path. “And I’m certainly not the kind of knothead that would try and make you either. And, who knows? Maybe this isn’t about you at all. Maybe I want some fresh air too. But I tell you what. Let’s make a deal - we love negotiating, don’t we?”

Tony scoffs. “Sure we do. What’s your offer, Apple Pie?”

Steve gives him a look for the nickname, but says, “No matter how much you want to, you can’t smile for five minutes. You don’t smile and we don’t walk. Simple. So just. Don’t.”

 _Oh god, you sly son of a - god, why is it suddenly impossible not to smile now? Damn you, Rogers,_ Tony thinks as he tries to frantically control the muscles of his mouth.

“No, I really mean it, Tony. You absolutely cannot smile. I’m actually rooting for you. Come on, we’re barely past a minute. You can do this, just four more minutes to go - oh. Oh, what’s that? Oh no. There it goes.”

Tony ducks his face behind his hands as he laughs and curses, his mouth curling up as Steve continues to ‘tsk’ like he’s so disappointed. But the self-satisfied half-grin Tony spies from between the gaps of his fingers kind of gives Steve away. He’s stuck between wanting to shake Steve by the shoulders to demand a do-over, or climbing into his lap to kiss the living daylights out of him.

“Guess this means we’re walking, huh?”

Tony tries so hard not to let his lips curl into an exasperated smile as he drops his hands to his lap but it’s no use. God, this man. He wants to laugh when he thinks about how totally opposite Steve is to his parents, who would have looked at him with disdain if he complained about any preheat symptoms. But not Steve. He recognizes what’s wrong and he goes out of his way to make accommodations without a second thought.

Tony sniffs and tries to wear a more sober expression, but he’s already feeling a little better. Well, at least enough to finally sense the tangerine oranges muddled together with cotton candy pinks and ruby reds coming from Steve’s side of the bond. He sighs. “You’re not gonna change your mind about this one, are you?”

“You’re welcome t’ try.”

Tony huffs before crossing his arms. “Fine. We’ll walk.” 

“After you, though - hang on.” Steve leans in with a concerned frown, his side of the bond deepens in dark shades of goldfish orange. “You have something just about here -” He pulls Tony in by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him smack dab on the lips without warning before pulling back to lick his lips. “Hm, never mind. That’s just me.”

Tony goes red as he releases a few pheromones, so glad that he had the foresight to put up the divider. “God, you don’t play fair at all, do you?” and before Steve can reply with what’s probably a smartass remark, he tugs Steve in again to deepen the kiss, communicating strictly with the help of a lot of tongue about how into Steve he is. When he’s sure that his Alpha is nice and stupified he pulls away to preen at the aftermath. 

Steve pulls a very disgruntled frown at the disruption, looking a bit dazed as he ducks down to try to kiss (and possibly scent) at Tony’s neck.

Tony laughingly and playfully shoves Steve away so he can exit the limo to make his escape from the very pleasant assault. Maybe if they were at home, he’d let himself give in, let himself forget, but he’s not in the mood to get embarrassingly wet in public with a witness. 

The brisk wind blowing in from the sea coast does wonders for his heated skin and there’s a moment where he wishes he were brave enough to take off his shirt so he can feel that breeze directly on his damp skin. He’s not, so he doesn’t.

They take a moment to give their goodbyes to Howell before sending the older man off with their purchase from the bookstore to be sent back to the mansion.

They walk with a good view of the seacoast, just as the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons spread across a darkening sky.

Tony takes a moment to watch his feet, one foot stepping before the other, before he glances around at the pristine mansions settled on either side of the winding street. His headache hasn’t subsided, but it’s not as terrible as it had been when he was in the car. Still, he’s happy he thought to bring along a pair of shades, which he readily slaps onto his face to make the world just a bit darker, easing the pressure of his preheat migraine. 

He also finds that without pain to distract him, he’s overcome with an intense craving for ice-cold water, for spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar and an almost itchy need to tinker with recycled cans and lego building blocks he can cram and mold together into a glorious miniaturized metal version of Gotham City.  

God, now he realizes he’ll have to explain some of the childish whims he gets during Heat to Steve, and he’s a little mortified at the thought of Steve finding it all too strange or immature and rejecting him for it. It makes him tremble under a familiar wave of shame over his nesting habits and instincts, his Omega hindbrain flexes unhappily at the thought of displeasing his Alpha in any way. Something inside him wants to hide, shut away, and lock the rest of the world out - lock _Steve_ out. But it also aches unpleasantly to imagine the isolation, to imagine banishing his Alpha in his time of need. He feels strangely conflicted. 

“Precious gem for your thoughts?”

Tony blinks into awareness, his legs still moving on auto-pilot and, yup, they are still walking. He silently wonders how long they’ve been doing this. He must have zoned out pretty bad there. He clears his throat. “How precious are we talking?”

Steve smiles in that ‘battle-ready’ way he does when they are on the verge of negotiating. 

It makes the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand-up pleasantly, and a tingling wave of ‘ _fight or flight_ ’ drifts over him in a single second before vanishing. He’s not … listen, it’s not that Tony is afraid of Steve or anything. He doesn’t view his husband as dangerous by any means. It’s just that Steve _could_ be if he wanted.  

God. Steve has so many levels to him. He’s so - so _sharp_ for someone who looks and acts as unassuming as he does. 

But there are moments when Tony recognizes or has to acknowledge, that while Steve clearly has ‘ _street smarts_ ’, he also has a complex intelligence that manages to give him an edge even over a genius like Tony, manages to give him control of a crowd even as the smallest Alpha in the room, or win over the hearts of even the most prickly Omegas with just a quick but polite hello because he treats them all as a person first, designation last.  

It’s incredible, annoying, fascinating and everything in between. Tony has to admit, when he visualized marriage, he never even considered the kind of perfect match he’s found in Steve, who’s never made him feel like an object to be hunted into ownership or complete degrading submission. He goes out of his way to remind Tony that they are equals, and god, he’s getting emotional thinking about it

There’s just something there - something about Steve that Tony is nearly itching to discover or unfold. His mind drifts back to this morning when he had called Steve ‘sir’ and he thinks about the sensation of Steve’s palm coming down on his ass before he shoves it all back because, yup, damn it, there go those pheromones trying to lure Steve in and,  _damn it,_ they aren’t anywhere close to being near the mansion. 

“I’d be willing to offer any of the four most precious gems on Earth,” Steve finally says, cutting through Tony’s thoughts with the kind of ease a hot knife has when slicing through soft butter. He has his blazer tossed over his shoulder, the hand with Tony’s bite mark on the wrist keeping it there, tie looking a little more loosened and his hair is still a little messy from the kiss they shared earlier.

Tony feels a surge of pride and possessiveness at the sight, at all of Steve. He thinks, _that’s mine,_ and wants to suck a slew of bruising marks all over Steve’s sharp collarbone, on the sides of his neck, really anywhere Steve wouldn’t be able to hide from the general public. Oh, geez, okay, he needs to slow down. He’s riling himself up again. 

Stupid, stupid preheat hormones.

“I suppose I am more of a sapphire guy,” Tony eventually replies, hoping Steve hadn’t noticed the elongated silence that preceded it. 

“No kidding? Well, sapphires then, for your thoughts?”

Tony smiles and keeps his gaze forward.

A seagull cries in the distance.

Tony’s mouth dips when he recalls his initial worries. He says, “Quick disclaimer, I remember my first heat.”

Steve looks surprised but Tony can’t blame him. He replies, “Most people can’t remember their first Time. Didn’t even know that I’d had my first Rut until my Ma told me when it was all over.” His expression goes all sheepish and whimsical. “You, ah, really remember yours?”

“Midnight. Christmas. I was nine.”

Steve looks impressed and curious.

“I made a nest in my closet, not even realizing I was doing it, or what it meant,” Tony goes on to say. “You wanna know what I was doing in there those three hours before midnight? I made paper mâché replicas of U.S. navy battleships, fighters, bombers, and transport planes. I went through maybe a handful of World War Two reenactments. God knows I knew enough about the facts to do so. ' _It’s important to know war history in the weapons business_ ', Howard would say. But only when I had the gall to complain about having to sit through those history lessons. ' _Remember the past or be doomed to repeat it_ ' - that was Obadiah's motto. The three of them always made sure I understood that.

“Anyway, so there I was, in this giant pile of blankets and pillows in my massive closet with the Attack on Pearl Harbour underway, many lives lost, a solemn parade follows the celebration of our fallen heroes, yaddah, yaddah, and then I feel this sudden pinch in the middle of my gut. I get a little dizzy with it. Like I’d spun myself around over a dozen times. Skewed equilibrium. Then there’s this blooming fever and my belly was warm as if I’d just had hot soup. And I wanted and wanted but didn’t know what I was in want _of_. Wave after wave of confusion and sorrow and emptiness followed. It was four days before Jarvis found me, a mess of body fluids, gobs of paper mâché stuck to my sweaty skin, shaky with tears.”

Steve is painfully quiet beside them as they continue their walk.

“Jarvis had been on vacation, you see. He’d been with his ailing mother over the holidays. Though. My parents _had_ known. I don’t know which of them knew first. But, I know for how huge our family suite was at Stark Tower, my scent had been so thick and strong, there would have been no mistaking it. They had known, and they didn’t do anything. But that’s how they were, how they are. You know what my Omega mother said to me after it was all over, and Jarvis had managed to nurse me back to health? She said, ‘ _Your father and I had a conversation about this, long before you were born, about what we would do should you present as Omega. We thought we'd leave you to your first, see if you'd be able to survive it. And you did, didn't you? Only the strong survive, this is both true for both civilization and the wild. What are you weeping for? Life hurts, Anthony. It just does. Especially for Omega kind. It’s a hard lesson you have to learn, but learn it you must regardless. Only the strong survive. The weak are food.’._ ”

Steve makes a wounded sound, and his side of the bond is thunderous with ivory whites as they passed another crosswalk. “They’d left you to your first Heat to teach you a _lesson?_ Christ, you could have fucking died. What a stupidly dangerous thing t’ go and let a kid deal with that mess on their own when they got no idea what’s happening t’ them. Christ.” He looks severely pissed as well as a little queasy over it. 

“Won’t argue that.” Tony lets a yawn of silence fall over them. Then he says, “Listen, I have these … these urges. Remember I mentioned the paper mâché replicas? I - I like that, Steve. I didn’t - that wasn’t the only time I’d done that. Or anything similar. I have this drive, this need to … to _build_ during my Time before the rough of it completely takes over. I know it’s not - that it’s childish but -”

“Whoa, Tony, hey. I’m not going to judge you for the things you do or for what you like when it’s your Time. Is that what you’ve been worried about, sweetheart?”

Tony nearly whimpers at the term of endearment but he swallows it down and hoarsely says, “Yes.”

“I promise you don’t need to. You took such good care of me. I’m gonna do the same for you. Anything you want, Tony. Anything you need.”

Tony is very relieved to hear it. “Thank you,” he says, almost quietly while they pause at the next intersection to wait for the walk signal.

“You really shouldn’t have to.”

“I know.” Tony swallows. “But I like to.” And, feeling a little emboldened at Steve’s open acceptance, he adds, “ _Sir._ ” like an afterthought.

But it hits it’s mark like Tony was hoping it would.

Steve’s breath hitches, his eyes dilate and a wave of pheromones that smell sharply of cinnamon spices, rich mahogany, and fresh pine after the rain waft from him. It makes Tony’s mouth water.

Steve looks a bit worked up himself. He’s got pink cheeks and the expression he’s wearing kinda makes it seem like he’s two seconds away from either stroking Tony’s jawline gently and confessing his love or splitting Tony open on his cock until he cries.

Tony squirms as his face prickles with heat and he feels the unmistakable first drip of slick easing out. He’s going to have to start wearing liners because this is getting so ridiculous. One look from Steve and he’s wetter than the Atlantic ocean during hurricane season.

“I - you, uh, you mind if we make a pit stop?” Steve indicates to the small strip mall where the stores are arranged in a neat row. “I think we have ten minutes to go before we’re back at the house, but I’m thirsty. How about you?”

“I wouldn’t say no to a bottle of water,” Tony admits as he internally tries to compose himself. “Maybe two. Definitely nothing more than three.”

Steve smiles crookedly at him and it’s bursting with such fondness that it makes Tony’s stomach swoop pleasantly. “Read you loud and clear. We making this trip together or are you gonna idle outside?”

“I am enjoying this air,” Tony supposes with a shrug. “Yeah, I’ll wait outside for you,” he decides.

Steve nods and they cross the street together and journey through the parking lot and over to the convenience store that’s sandwiching a daycare between it with a sex shop resting on the other side.

Tony finds the placement amusing and nearly draws Steve’s attention to it before he thinks better of it. He watches his Alpha push through the glass double doors and into the small convenience store which is flooded with preteens. Though it makes sense a moment later when Tony spies the flyer posted on the door advertising half off on a combined purchase of a Slurpee and a bag of Takis newly launched flavor.

Tony watches in amusement as Steve attempts to navigate through the flurry of energetic activity. It’s a while before Steve manages to make it to the register with a case of bottled water. Tony had, on more than one occasion, felt guilty about watching Steve’s transition through the line with that weight and had been halfway to saying nevermind. But Steve would catch his eye, would see in Tony’s expression what he was thinking, and he’d just pull a face until Tony laughed and didn’t actually move an inch from his spot on the sidewalk outside. 

Steve waddles out and sets the case of water at Tony’s feet like he’s gifting some large beast he’d hunted himself with a showy bow.

Tony laughs and jabs him playfully in the ribs before he crouches down to wiggle free a bottle that he practically inhales before moving on to the next. By the time Tony is polishing off his _sixth_ bottle and comes up for air, he shoots Steve a sheepish but grateful look as he straightens fully.

“Good?” Steve asks, eyeing him intently.

Tony tries not to squirm as he nods shortly. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Steve lets eyes linger over Tony’s lips for an indecent stretch of time, something dark and ravenous behind his gaze. “Your happiness is my paradise, honey.”

Tony gets a little tongue-tied, but more importantly, he gets very wet. He flushes when Steve’s nose twitches in interest. He feels so light at this moment, carefree and floating. He’s blanketed, swaddled tightly with his love for Steve.

A wolf-whistle shatters the moment thoroughly. It came from a group of Alphas climbing out of a gaudy looking jeep and the age range varying between them seems to put any of them somewhere around early to mid-twenties. They all look like trouble.

“Damn, this little O wants it bad.” The Alpha that says this has piercings in five places: his right earlobe, his right eyebrow, his chin, both lips, and his left earlobe. He's built like a pro-athlete and seems to be the leader of the pack. He gropes at his dick underneath his jeans, licking lewdly at his front teeth as he eyes Tony like a piece of steak. “You keep smelling like that and I’ll have to do something about it, little O. Might just dick you down right here and now.”

Steve growls and then all eyes are on him but he doesn’t buckle once under all those hostile gazes.

“Yeah, you got something to say, bitch?” 

Tony counts six of them and he knows that Steve won’t survive any kind of confrontation. “Steve,” he starts but stops short when his Alpha cups his hand over the back of his neck with a comforting squeeze.

Then Steve drops that hand and says, “You want his number, give him your phone.”

Tony glances at him sharply but Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of the Pierced Asshole #1. There’s something calm, confident, and steady in that gaze.

Pierced Asshole #1 either doesn’t notice or is too dumb to recognize that he’s about to walk right into a trap, but he’s stalking forward with an ugly scowl, shoving his blocky smartphone at Tony.

“Go on,” Steve encourages, _finally_ meeting Tony’s gaze and then he’s tugging at his left ear before rubbing his nose.

Tony blinks, instantly recognizing their personal sign language before he smirks. Then he shifts his weight before he looks up at Pierced Asshole #1 from under his lashes as he releases some pheromones and says, “You wanna unlock your phone for me?”

Pierced Asshole #1 inhales deeply, his gaze gets clouded and he takes the phone back, unlocking it on autopilot before giving it back.

Tony winks at him with a “Thanks, hotshot.” and then proceeds to enter a sequence of code that will activate the kind of vicious malware that will both send all his financial information to the worst identity theft sites as well as expose any seedy secrets he’s got stored in his phone (scrubbed internet history or not) to his close friends and family.

Pierced Asshole #1 takes the phone back with a cocky and triumphant grin.

Tony just glances behind him at the others, but addresses Steve as he says, “What do you think? Should I spread the wealth?”

“Be rude not to. Go on then.”

Tony bats his eyelashes at all those knotheads with a coy smirk. “Anybody else want my number?”

They all eagerly line up like lambs to the slaughter, none the wiser that by this time tomorrow, their lives were going to be in utter ruin. 

Steve had just single-handedly bested them by entrusting their demise to the clever skills of his Omega, and they hadn’t even known it.

Tony has never wanted him more.

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** seriously tho wya **  
sunflowersandstickers: **i think i found something and i hope im wrong so 

.

.

.

The bond bursts like fireworks between them, nothing but deep, dark wine colors.

“I wanna see it,” Tony pants between kisses from where Steve has him pressed against the front door of the mansion, the depleted case of water at their feet. They had power walked back, both still a bit riled up by that confrontation in the parking lot and the energy that had surged between them as they worked in tandem to subdue the group of rowdy Alphas in an out-of-the-box method. “Please, Steve. I wanna see it.”

Steve drops his forehead to Tony’s shoulder with a groan as Tony tries to unbuckle his belt. “Wait. Wait, wait, honey. Not here. Let me - ah, god - let me get you to a bed first.”

“Can’t wait. Need it now. Give it to me. Please, Alpha.”

Steve kisses him like he’s starving and Tony’s mouth is the feast he’s been waiting for years to have. Then he’s pulling back so they can catch their breaths. “Bed. We need a bed. I don’t - don’t want anyone to see. It’s - it’s for me. Just for me. For us.”

Tony whines in frustration and thuds the back of his head against the door over and over. A bed seems to be galaxies away in that moment.

Steve makes a disgruntled sound, quickly shifting his hand up to cushion the impact of it. “Careful,” he urges.

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes before he’s pushing Steve back so he can stab at the doorbell until someone comes to let them in. Once that happens, he’s dragging Steve impatiently towards the back of the mansion in the direction of the guest house where he plans on having Steve on every piece of furniture. 

But their trek is short-lived when they stumble upon Sam and Riley waiting with dinner at one of the poolside tables.

Steve suddenly curses behind him.

Tony turns a questioning look on him as his heart slows down to a more acceptable pace, and the fog of lust clears and is replaced by confusion instead.

Steve has this sheepish look on his face as his side of the bond unfolds with banana yellows and before Tony can ask, Sam is saying, “Steve … please tell me you told him.”

“Ah …” Steve suddenly raises his phone to his ear. “Oh, hello? Yeah, no I can talk.”

Sam barks out a laugh and throws a breadstick at him. “You a damn lie! Who you talking to, huh? Everyone you know is _here,_ Steve. Face the consequences of your actions.”

“No thanks,” Steve replies, urging Tony forward to the table before pulling out a seat for him at the table.

Tony sits and thanks him with a bemused smile while Sam tsks and says, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him.” 

“I meant to!” Steve exclaims as he takes the seat beside Tony, shrugging off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to his elbows before loosening his tie a great deal and slipping it off.

Tony really shouldn’t have found that whole thing as attractive as he does. But the thing is, he finds the casual mannerism of Steve dressing himself down, shrugging off societal expectations with less than a thought, incredibly hot. 

“Steve, you really dropped the ball,” Riley adds with a smirk. 

“Like you’ve never made a mistake.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. My integrity isn’t in question here,” Riley snarks back as Steve rolls his eyes before serving both himself and Tony a plate of pasta bake glazed with creamy jalapeno cheese and garlic-parmesan breadsticks.

Sam shakes his head in disappointment while Tony glances between them all to say, “Hi. Hello. Tony Rogers. Outside observer. What are we talking about here exactly?”

Riley snorts and replies, “Steve was supposed to have mentioned that we were interested in doing a bit of some mock depositions with you before we head home. You know, to get you better prepared for the upcoming court proceedings.” 

Tony can feel his smile evaporating instantly as an unpleasant feeling of apprehension strikes him. “I see,” he simply says. “That should be fine.”

Steve shoots him a concerned look that he tries to ward off with a weak smile. “Ah, I probably really should’ve mentioned this earlier. We wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t want to.”

Tony is a little agitated, yes, that Steve hadn’t mentioned this earlier so he could mentally prepare but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he puts on a brave face and says, “I’d like to try. If you think it will help us, then, let’s do it.”

Riley nods in approval while Sam asks them about the luncheon.

Steve does most of the talking since Tony is too busy stuffing his face. He clears his own plate about three times, and because Steve is still talking, he decides to help Steve clear his plate as well.

For some reason, that triggers a noticeable pause in the conversation.

“You let him eat off your plate?” Sam looks floored. “He lets you eat off his plate?”

“He always lets me,” Tony simply says with a shrug, confused by why that seems to baffle Sam. 

“I don’t _let_ you,” Steve argues pointlessly between bites as he navigates his own fork around Tony’s as they eat off his plate together. “I just decide not to say anything.”

“This is fucking precious!” Sam exclaims suddenly, clasping his hand over his heart. “This is coming from the man that goes zero to a hundred real quick if you even _look_ at his food. Tony, you _have_ to know that Steve once gave someone a black eye for doing what you're doing now.”

Steve drops his silverware on his plate, letting it clatter noisily as he leans back in his seat with a dramatic sigh. “Not this again. I was fourteen and getting over my first Rut for god’s sake.”

Tony feels like his eyebrows are going to fly off his face for how fast he raises them and he’s too intrigued to pass up on a story like that. “He did what now?”

“It’s not - it isn’t at all how he’s making it sound,” Steve swears as he fidgets with this shifty look on his face.

Oh, Tony absolutely wants to know. “Please, go on,” he urges to Sam, ignoring the unhappy noises Steve makes.

Sam dives right into the story. By the end of it all, Riley and Tony are nearly in tears. Tony is laughing so hard that he has to hold his sides while Steve sits pink and shame-faced beside him. 

Steve feels the need to repay Sam for the embarrassment and shares a story about Sam’s many failed attempts at the ‘cinnamon challenge’.

“Wow, you really gonna call me out on that?” Sam shakes his head and looks to Tony with a sober expression. “Tony, did Steve ever tell you about the time he lost to me at Words with Friends when it first launched, and then was so salty that he reported and flagged my account?”

Tony laughs explosively as Steve goes beet red with a wide-eyed look of guilt. “He didn’t!”

“He sure did. And that's on period.” Sam shakes his head. “Tragic, right? Just petty.”

“Oh? And you’ve never been petty a day in your life?” Steve shoots back with an exasperated smile but he looks no less fond of his childhood friend. “Let me have the last breadstick then.”

“ _What?_ Have you lost your damn mind?”

Steve laughs and says something in fluid French and the elegance of it makes Tony press his thighs together as his blood sings under his warm skin because, fuck, Steve _speaks_ French.

Sam rolls his eyes, not as impressed, and replies in kind. His grasp of the language is a little more lazily, less perfunctory than Steve’s command of the speech. 

“I can’t understand a word of what they talk about when they do that,” Riley admits, tossing an amused grin to Tony, who huffs. “Spanish, Romanian, and Portuguese are where I thrive. What about you?”

Tony shrugs and says, “Much of the same. Just toss in Russian, German, Japenese, Chinese, and Italian. I wanted to learn French but, Howard had this weird thing against it. Thought it was too … effeminate. Weak. But between us, I think he was too sour about the time the Prime Minister of France called him ‘tourist trash’.”

“I see. That’s unfortunate that his insecurities kept you from indulging, but there’s nothing to stop you from learning now if you wanted. Steve could help. He's really good at the teaching stuff. Just putting that out there,” Riley says, lifting his hands to show he’s harmless before he moves to pour himself another glass of wine.

Tony declines his offer of refilling his glass. He’s already, quite nearly tipsy. He’s secretly glad for it, to be honest. If they really are going to do these mock scenarios, he needs a little help, though not much since he still wants to be sober enough to benefit from the practice without losing it all the next day to a hangover.

“Well, damn, just take it since you love breadsticks so much,” Sam scoffs, finally switching back to English. “Wait, why am I even surprised? You always do this. You a damn breadstick feen.” 

Steve accepts the small basket from his best friend and has the nerve to say, “See now, was that so hard?” before he fucking _gives_ the breadstick he’d made such a big deal about having to Tony with an innocent expression that makes the Omega flush because of course Steve noticed the way Tony had been eyeing it all this while but had been too reluctant to take it for himself.

Sam and Riley share a look at that but they don’t say a thing. The affectionate smiles they try to hide behind their glasses of wine says it all really.

And Tony, well, he’s a bit preoccupied with the thought that if Steve does truly like breadsticks as much as Sam had been hinting, he’ll have to figure out a way to make it from scratch.

He wants to spoil Steve. There’s a deep need to, but being able to mold something by his own two hands is more of a … possessive thing. It's why he’s always fiddling with Steve’s tech, why he bothered to fix the pipes at their humble little studio, why he upgraded Steve’s kitchenware. 

Steve is his to take care of, and Tony is, if anything, very ambitious and overeager when it comes to that area. It’s the one thing he refuses to feel guilty about or apologize for.

Sam and Steve continue to squabble back and forth between the glasses of wine and food passed around. At some point, they call a truce by focusing on the many hilarious misadventures of Bucky’s tireless efforts in becoming the next Vine star when it was still a thing.

Then, the moment of truth comes when they rearrange things at the table where Sam and Steve pretend to be the judge and the court reporter while Riley takes on the role of Howard and Maria’s lawyer. 

“Before we begin, a few things to go over,” Riley states, leaning back against the edge of the table with his arms crossed, Sam and Steve sit off to the side watching. “It’s okay to be nervous, and it’s also okay to take your time when you need to. Pour yourself a glass of water, pause between answering, take a breath, just anything you need to do to ground yourself.”

Tony swallows and nods, his heart is already beating wildly and they haven’t even properly begun yet.

Riley continues, “Now, you should know, they’re gonna try something called Pillowing. Are you familiar with that term?”

Tony shakes his head and folds his shaky hands together.

“It’s where you sandwich an uncomfortably direct question between softer, simple ones,” Riley explains. “Would you like to practice navigating that strategy? We can do some warm-ups.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Okay.” Riley straightens and suddenly the air around him changes into electric confidence that is both something to behold yet intimidating to be on the other end of. He says, “Are you able to state your full name for the record?”

Tony fidgets. “Tony.”

“Full name.”

“Anthony Edward Sta -” Tony shuts his eyes as he verbally fumbles and flushes. “I mean, Rogers. Anthony Edward Rogers.”

“Mr. Rogers, are you able to state your age?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Do you know why we’re here?”

Tony hesitates, even though he does but he feels like he doesn’t know how to say it all of a sudden.

“Mr. Rogers, can you please answer the question?”

“I -” Tony swallows. “Yes, I do.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

Tony flushes. “I am,” he replies, trying to press as much confidence in his voice as possible.

“Would you say that you’re ambitious?”

“Uh.” Tony fidgets. “That would … depend, I guess.”

“What would it depend on? Mere circumstance? If you need a scenario, I have one for you. Let’s say you realize that you need to make sure you inherit your father’s company. What about in that circumstance? How ambitious are you about that?”

Tony feels at a loss for what to say, too offended over the underlying accusation to these questions. 

“Why don’t we circle back? Let’s go over something else. Were you given a good education growing up?”

“Yes.”

“And is it true that you were even granted the ability to pursue higher education as well, despite that being outside the norm for Omegas?”

“Yes.”

“So then you would agree that your parents were more than fair, more than patient, more than compassionate?”

Tony blanches, and once again, fumbles over what to think to say. "No - I mean, it's - they did what - uh. It's a parent's obligation to ensure that their child is educated. That's not unusual or uncommon, especially in America. It's the law. I wouldn't consider them heroes for that."

“I see. Let's shift to a different perspective here. We’ve been told that while you were incredibly gifted, you were also a difficult child, Mr. Rogers. Do you agree with that description?”

Tony trips up again, his mind racing. “I - that depends maybe on what you think difficult means.”

“Fair enough. Let’s try something else here, then. Would you agree that you were an _unruly_ child?”

“That’s - no. I wouldn’t. I believe I was a child. I don’t think I was difficult. At least I - I tried not to be. But I - I don’t pretend to understand the complexities of parenting so I couldn’t very well vouch for an outsider’s experience. I was a child. I did what children do.”

Riley finally lets his facade crack and he looks impressed. “That’s good, Tony. That was really good.”

Tony licks his lips as he deflates. “Yeah? I feel like I’m talking out of my ass here.”

Everyone laughs and Riley says, “Well if that’s how you bluff, keep at it. I know I’m throwing a lot at you but this is pretty much how it is when it comes to the real thing. You’re doing really well, very genuine in the responses. I think you’ll benefit the more we practice so it's a bit more put together and not so stilted. You want to keep going?”

Tony glances at Steve who returns the gaze with something encouraging and warm before he looks back to Riley with a confident nod.

.

.

.

It’s midnight when Sam and Riley announce they have to pack for their trip home.

Steve seems to be in a pensive mood over something indecipherable but Tony really isn’t faring any better, he feels utterly drained emotionally and mentally by the time they call it quits.

The sucky thing though is that his body still feels way too wired, which means that even if he wanted to lie down and get some sleep, he wouldn’t be able to. He feels edgy, restless, and prickly. There’s a buzzing in his mind, like a horde of cicadas slapping around on the inside of his skull. 

It only gets worse once he’s said his goodbyes to Sam and Riley while Steve walks them out. Tony chooses to retreat into the guest house, frowning at the arrangement of the living room furniture. He tries to ignore the needling urge to reorganize, to alter, to adjust.

Tony turns his focus on locating his charger for his phone. When he finds it, he hooks it up to his laptop before leaving it there. Not much he can do with it while it’s dead. He tracks down the case of water Steve bought and chugs at least four bottles until he finds satisfaction for the moment. He then concentrates on picking out what he wants to wear to bed, electing a pair of cotton pajama shorts and one of Steve’s sweatshirts (the one that says PRATT in watercolors).  

He checks in on Mercury while he goes through his nightly routine, finding it interesting that his arachnid friend has decided to switch corners. By the time he’s done with all that, he slips into his new change of clothes, slathers on a face mask, and gives in to the temptation of rearranging the bedroom furniture.

Steve walks in just as Tony’s managed to push the bed into a different corner. 

Tony blows out a breath as he straightens, pointing a stern finger in Steve's direction as he says, “You’re really okay with me being like this, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“God, you’ve no idea what you’re getting into, but I did warn you. Come give me a hand with the dresser. I’m trying to talk myself out of cramming it in the closet but the thought won’t leave me alone.”

Steve smiles like he has a million different replies he could give but in the end, he just wordlessly shuffles over. Together, they push the massive mahogany furniture into the walk-in closet and against the furthest wall. 

It’s … wow, yeah, it actually works. 

Tony has a hypothesis about why that is, and before he can say for sure, he decides to go through a few test trials first. After all, he is a scientist at heart, and gathering data was a definite thing for him.

So, on and on, Tony decides where things should go, Steve accepts each declaration without question, and together they shuffle the _entire_ guest house around. 

In the end, when they have everything repositioned, Tony takes it all in with a final walk-through, and a sense of rightness snaps into place at last. He’s trembling in satisfaction because he understands why that is. He and Steve have simultaneously scent-marked every single object in the guest house, and now the mix of them is everywhere, permeating the air with a sweet richness that makes Tony positively glow with contentment. 

Usually, on his own, Tony could never find this kind of peace. But of course it would take sharing this side of himself with Steve to gain this sort of tranquility. It’s obvious now if it hadn’t been before, how well they work seamlessly together.

They are day and night, Moon and Sun. They balance each other out.

“Happy?” Steve asks when it's nearing two in the morning, looking just a bit run down and tired. He hasn’t even gotten the chance to shed his suit or get more comfortable as Tony has.

“Yes,” Tony replies, feeling bad for a moment before he forces himself to remember that Steve had _wanted_ to help, had wanted to do this with him. “I’m good. Thank you.”

Steve smiles tiredly, and he looks so sweet and sincere. “You ready for bed? I’m beat,” he admits.

Tony nods wordlessly and follows him into the bathroom where they share a mirror while they stand at the double sink. Tony had forgotten about the face mask he put on, so distracted by his nesting alterations. Once his face is clean, he gives Steve the run of the bathroom and slips into the bedroom to toss as many of Steve’s clothes he can fit on the bed before burying down into the swell of it. 

Steve chuckles when he finally exits the bathroom, though Tony’s not able to see his exact expression since he’s so deep in the pile he’s created. “Scale of one to ten, how upset would you be if I took a picture of you?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Tony mutters from his makeshift hidey-hole. “Now are you going to join me or what? These clothes smell like you but not enough.”

“Can’t have that.” Steve makes the bed dip and shift as he climbs in, and swims around for a bit before he makes a triumphant sound at locating Tony, who gives him a flat look at all the commotion. “What? You’re really nestled deep in here. Can’t blame a guy for being excited at finding his sweetheart.”

Tony goes scarlet and tugs Steve down in the space beside him. “Less talk, more scenting,” he demands.

Steve snickers but indulges Tony nonetheless, dragging the Omega closer to do just that. He’s very gentle about the whole thing, so much so that Tony finds himself drifting under the assault. He’s not quite asleep, but he’s not quite lucid either. He feels good. Really good. Like he’s floating.

Tony smiles to himself as he snuggles closer to his Alpha, tossing his leg over Steve’s waist while his arms wrapped around Steve’s small chest, ducking low to settle his nose on the scent gland resting in the dip of Steve’s sharp collarbone. “Mm, Steve?”

“Yes?”

“I like when you speak French. Makes me feel - it makes me _feel_.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. I like it. Got a little wet listening to you.”

“Ah.” Steve suddenly coughs and Tony’s nose twitches with the smell of arousal but he’s too far gone to really do anything about it. “Thanks for - for telling me.”

"Will you teach me?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Will you teach me in bed?"

Steve twitches against him, making a strange choked up noise, and clears his throat for like a long time. Finally, he replies, "Ask me - ask me again later if you really mean that."

Tony just hums. Then he announces, “Steve, I want chickens.”

“Chickens?” Steve echoes and his voice sounds a bit shaky with indulgent mirth. “You hungry, Sweet Pea?”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “M’not _hungry_. It’s not to _eat_ ,” he stresses like that should already be obvious.

Steve laughs softly. “Oh, okay, my mistake. What do you need chickens for?”

“For our farm.”

“We -” Steve definitely sounds like he’s choking back incredulous laughter. “We have a farm? When did that happen?”

“Didn’t happen yet,” Tony corrects as he rests his eyes for a moment. Just a moment. He’s not falling asleep or anything. “Gonna build you a cabin, Steve. With lots of rooms, and I’ll drop to my knees for you in every single one of them.”

Steve makes that choked up noise again. 

Tony continues, unabashed and undeterred, “Gonna make it special. Put it somewhere upstate where there’s nothing but good soil and trees and _privacy._  Just you, me, and FRI.”

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah? And it’ll have chickens, you said?”

“Uh huh,” Tony murmurs, too far gone to stop the ridiculousness that’s coming out his mouth. He just - he feels _so_ good. Weightless. It’s like being drunk without the liquor. He knows there’s a word for it but he can’t quite grasp it. “Steve,” Tony mumbles against Steve’s collarbone, liking the way it makes the older man shiver for a moment. “Steve, I want ducks there too. Our cabin has to be by a lake so we can have ducks. I want chickens and ducks. And pigs. But not to eat, okay? We don’t eat them. They are for _keeps._ ”

“Understood,” Steve replies softly and strokes a hand down Tony’s side.

“I want a cabin with a garden and a - and a - a _You,_ there, always, waiting for me.”

“Always.”

“Feel safe with you. S’why m’gonna give you so many babies, Steve.” Tony is drifting further and further, sinking into the peaceful embrace of their combined scents, barely hearing when Steve makes that choked up sound for the third time. “Give you all the babies. As many as you want. Pretty, pretty babies with tiny feet.”

“That’s - I -”

“Hm?” Tony waits for him to complete that fractured sentence as he slips deeper and deeper. “S’matter, lamb? No babies?”

“No that’s - I mean, I think we should - we should talk about this when you’re not so gone in subspace, okay? We’ll talk about that later.”

“Kay.”

Steve murmurs a few words of endearment that soothe and mollify Tony even more. 

Tony’s not sure how long this goes on for before finally let's go and descends into the seemingly endless abyss of sleep. 

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** tony not to freak you out on main but  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** we gotta talk about that gun and where it really came from **  
** **sunflowersandstickers:** yo please hmu asap fr fr


	17. YEAR 1: PART I - VOLUME III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Day 1

**YEAR 1  
VOLUME III**

Tony wakes up way too early on Wednesday, with slightly sore nipples, a seemingly unquenchable thirst for water, and cramps that felt like a toddler’s meaty fist trying to punch through his pelvis. 

The house trembles slightly with the rolling of thunder while rain slaps noisily against the windows; it’s impossibly dark and grey out. That kind of sets the tone for the morning, honestly.

Feeling hot and stuffy, he pushes Steve away, complaining about how suffocated he feels. “God, Steve, ease up. Come _on._ Move it.”

“Relax,” Steve mumbles sleepily as he scoots away, his side of the bond glimmering with shades of sleepy egg whites and antique brass.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m trying to do,” Tony mutters sourly and turns his back to Steve, silently stewing over it. He sighs in annoyance when he feels Steve's tired but patient gaze burning into the back of his head. “Please don’t start with me.”

“What exactly would I be starting? I've said no more than forty words to you. Relax, Tony.”

Tony is suddenly so irritated that he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He says, “And he starts with me, ladies and gentlemen. How exactly am I supposed to relax when you’re bothering me? Maybe you can sleep when you’re sweaty and hot but that talent eludes me to this day.”

“There’s nothing t’ start firstly, as I said. And secondly, I’m not the one that woke up with an attitude, am I?”

Tony laughs bitterly. “Oh, well, in that case, I guess you have every right to take this personally. Sorry for being such a bitch at whatever the fuck o’clock in the morning and disturbing your sleep because I was uncomfortable. Can’t really learn my place without your guidance. Trust me, I’ll shape up from now on, Cap.”

Steve sighs and the bed wobbles and shakes with his exit. Then Steve's feet are audibly padding out the room and towards the kitchen.

A taunt silent builds in the wake of his absence, only broken by the sharp beep of smoke detector alerting of its need for a battery change.

Tony snatches the pillow Steve was using without turning his body and clutches it close, burying his nose in it to inhale deeply. It settles him a bit and washes away his anger to leave nothing but remorse and anxiety in its place. God, why was he always such a fucking gremlin when his Heat started?

Tony groans quietly, pressing his damp forehead further against the pillow he’s practically strangling as another painful wave of cramps course through his body. He bites the inside of his cheek as he squeezes his thighs together, body clenching all over to brace through the sharp aches and throbs. His throat feels dry and his tongue feels rough. He’d kill for a -

“Here, come on.” Steve gently tugs the pillow away from his face to draw Tony’s attention to the armful of waters he’s holding. “Sit up, sour patch.”

Tony scrambles to his knees, ignoring the nickname and Steve’s amused gaze, snatching the first three bottles and nearly inhaling them before he gets a grip. “Okay, so … I might have - _possibly_ \- you know … overreacted. Or whatever. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Not my first rodeo.”

Tony snorts, even though there’s a swell of irritation that starts to build again at the thought of his Alpha taking care of another Omega. Then he thinks, _oh fuck it_ , and says, “Yeah, maybe don’t say things like that to me right now. Usually, I would find it funny or endearing or whatever, but not right now. I’m feeling a bit territorial.”

“Fair enough.” 

“Also, you are to _never_ mention the things I said last night.”

Steve huffs.

Tony glares. “ _Ever._ ”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Your subtle threat was crystal clear,” Steve replies like the little sarcastic shit he is while he hands over four more bottles of water, setting the last of it on the edge of the bed before he tucks away in the bathroom to give them both a little space and privacy.

Tony happily empties the bottles of water in Steve’s absence and doesn’t find the satisfaction he needs until he drains every single one of them. A bit more dehydrated, his mood picks up a bit, but it has him realizing that he’s still pretty tired. He doesn’t want to sleep though, his muscles are way too taught with pain for that.

 _Damn it,_  Tony thinks thunderously just as another clap of thunder sounds off. _No way around it, I’ll have to do some stretching._

Tony rolls off the bed, sending the empty plastic bottles to the floor, some of it crunching noisily under his feet as he steps over it to do some stretching exercises for the next thirty minutes. 

In the midst of it, he picks up the faint sound of Steve showering. He can’t really say why that bugs him so much that Steve got in there before he had a chance to. Probably hormones or whatever but he’s pretty annoyed that he has to wait now to start his morning routine.

Too nauseated to eat, Tony doesn’t even bother heading to the kitchen. He makes his way to the living room and to the coffee table where he intends to check his phone but gets distracted by a pile of mail sitting there. He recognizes most of it as Steve’s, but there’s this thick manilla envelope he nearly upturns the small table to grab. 

It’s his Agency documentation. 

There’s a part of Tony that ignores the fact that it seems a little light and thin. He carefully rips it open, not in the mood for any sort of paper cut, and wiggles the folded letter free. His heart drops, and here’s why:

 

[ ](https://ibb.co/X3n4TZ7)

 

The rejection letter trembles in the clutched grasp Tony has over it, his vision blurring as a few tears fall directly on the cardstock paper. He doesn’t have to think too hard about who could be responsible for this, the ‘anonymous tip’ was more than enough. 

He’s furious. Absolutely furious. But more than that, he’s devastated. He had been _so_ close to getting what he wanted and for the rug to be pulled out from under him like this … it’s agony. 

Tony rips the letter apart viciously as he sobs and then storms off to lock himself in the closet. He sits down with his back pressed against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest as he presses forehead on top to weep his heart out.

Distantly he hears Steve knocking on the door, asking if he’s okay with a voice laced with concern. Whatever Tony replies, he’s not even sure, is pretty short and rude and mean and emphasizes _a lot_ about how he just wants to be fucking left alone.

The knocking stops and the sound of Steve’s retreat follows.

Tony cries harder and lets himself sink into an ocean of loathing, cursing his Omega biology.

 _Life hurts, Anthony,_  Maria’s voice whispers in his mind. _It just does._

Tony grunts in frustration, trying to drown it out by mumbling different mathematical figures and formulas.

Maria’s voice gets louder and says, _Really now, Anthony. Howard and Obadiah are near to being the most powerful Alphas in the entire country. You think they will just sit back and let you mock them with this union? You think they will simply, what, do nothing? After all the money, and time, and resources Howard has invested in you? Naive. Twenty-five years on this planet, and you still don’t understand the way the world works._

Tony clenches his eyes shut, rocking back and forth, but Maria’s voice gets louder and louder until he’s forced to slap his hands over his ears, begging in choked sobs for silence.

It doesn’t come for quite some time.

.

.

.

Steve is sitting on the couch with the ripped pieces of that accursed letter with this pitying look on his face.

Tony has to swallow back some bile at the sight of it. “Don’t,” he warns, voice still scratchy and emotional in a way that makes him feel weak. He's no longer cramping, but all the pressure and heat is behind his eyes and pounding between his temples now.

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Good!” Tony snaps venomously, if only to keep himself from breaking down and sobbing like a child again. He crosses his arms over his sore chest and shoves his shaky hands under his armpits. “That's just great. No, actually that's fucking perfect because there’s absolutely nothing to talk about. Obviously. They’ve made their decision.”

“It’s pending but it’s not final. It’s going to be okay.”

Tony laughs cuttingly and can't even deal with the way Steve's side of the bond is doing the ivory white dance of 'righteous indignation' because it's _not enough_. “Don’t. Don’t you dare. You’re in a relationship with _me,_ Steve. You know what that means? That means things will _never_ just be okay. Pending? That’s bullshit and you know it. Howard and Obadiah have way too many government contacts for it to be a coincidence. They’re _punishing_ me. If they have it their way, our marriage will be tied up in so many investigations and audits that I’ll never see my Agency again. I’m fucked.”

“We can talk to Riley and -”

“You don’t get it. You’ll never get it!” Tony interjects rudely, but he’s so upset that he doesn’t care at all that he’s taking his frustrations out on Steve. God, if he hadn’t just bawled his eyes out, he’d been weeping right now. “Your Agency will never be into question the way that mine is. You can afford to do and say what you want and they’ll give you a million chances before they ever strip you of your rights. But not me. Not me. Not the  _Omega_. I’m constantly on thin fucking ice! You don’t get it.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a while, and a blanket of silence ripe with tension covers them.

Tony’s heart is thudding in his chest with anxiety. “I -” He hesitates over an apology and then gets annoyed all at once for feeling like he has to be the one to  _apologize_  in this situation. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair. “Look, can we just - drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says quietly with this unreadable expression, even his side of the bond has gone quiet and grey. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony repeats, all at once wishing he had hidden the letter. If he had hidden it, then they wouldn’t even be having this conversation - this … this _clash_. He feels a swell of frustration settle in his gut like a tight fist, and he can’t stand the lost look on Steve’s face. He walks over to the older man and kisses him on the lips. It lacks the usual intimacy it holds, but Tony's too emotionally exhausted to make an effort. He pulls away and presses their foreheads together.

They take a moment to breathe together, and that's more comforting to Tony than anything verbal.

After a while, Tony says, “Sorry. You’re right. I’ll be fine." He doesn't quite believe his own words however, too distracted by the way his chest tightens with unnameable anxious feelings that are so opposite to what he’s saying.

Steve doesn’t look any less concern. “I’m here for you,” he says like he knows it’s not enough but wishes it was.

Tony simply nods and they leave it at that.

They sit side by side with their shoulders brushing in off-balanced silence for a moment before Tony sighs and wanders over to the coffee table to grab his phone. It’s making too much commotion for him to ignore it. He frowns at all the frantic messages from Miles and decides to shoot him a reply.

Miles responds: _can we bang this out on the group chat please? all parties involved._

Tony rubs at his face tiredly, not really up for any type of conversation right now but he decides to power through it. He sits on the floor, legs folded in a pretzel under him, and uses his tablet to pull up a holographic display of his thread with Miles and Gwen.

To Steve, he says, “Miles thinks he found something. We’re going to talk about it now.”

Steve nods and stands. “I’m going to make some eggs. Interested?”

Tony shakes his head but thanks him for the offer. He’s got a stomach ache anyway, and he’s sure that food isn’t going to help right now. He just grabs another bottle of water from the deeply depleted case that seems to have been relocated to the living room, hoping it'll do something for his hormonal headache. Then he turns his attention back to the holographic display just as three dots appear next to Miles’s username. 

Miles says: _we all here?_

Gwen replies: _yah_

Tony replies much the same as he pulls his computer close and starts booting it up. He figures he can work on his nano-bugs while they discuss things. He’d rather multitask as a way to distract himself from other things.

Tony types out: _m_ _iles, what did you find out about the gun?_  

Miles replies: _uh, right. so check it. i’m on my way to meet gwen at her new job, right? did she mention that she got one now?_

Gwen interjects: _i don’t think i told him yet so that's on me_

Tony smiles tiredly, just a fraction, and replies: _yeah i second that_

Gwen replies: _:p sorry sorry yah so nbd i have an internship with oscorp under dr. connors in their genetics dept_

Miles jumps in with: _she trying to get that full ride to oxford_

Gwen adds: _big things with little dreams_

Tony huffs at that, pausing his work over his keyboard to reply: _congrats thats really impressive and def will make you stand out_

Gwen responds by hearting his text bubble.

Miles is typing again: _so back to the serious matter at hand i’m on my way to meet her since she always get out around four or whatever and i decided to make a pit stop, something slight or whatever_

Gwen interjects: _slight, he says_

Gwen adds: _like youre not always thinking with your stomach_

Tony huffs as he continues altering the sequence code for his nano-bugs almost absentmindedly.

Miles adds a few crying emojis before typing: _why you always tryna expose me like this???_

Gwen sends the eye roll emoji.

Miles replies: _no more interruptions please and thanks so anyways …_

Miles continues: _i wanted to body a few paletas cause it’s mad spicy out, right? like we talking over the nineties, you know, climate change at its finest. anyways, i hit the corner where the Elote Man is always posted up when i get this notification on my phone from some of them sites i told ya'll i was cruising on the dark web to try and work out where the plasma gun might have come from_

Tony pauses his work, giving the holographic display his full attention while the scent of eggs reaches him.

Miles types: _i went to go look and i realized it wasn’t a notification after all, it was like a shared link one of my friends from the other side sent, you know, my best contacts on the dark web, and like when i pushed the link it took me to this server that was like a library of encrypted podcasts that’s from this really popular anthology called "The Brock Report"_

Tony brow furrows, and he can’t help but to think there’s something familiar about that name. But the hormonal headache that's steadily pounding behind his eyes, making his temples throb, proves to be a challenge in trying to ignore in order to mentally pinpoint _why_ it is that name seems familiar.

Miles continues: _so i start to listen to the podcasts, randomly_

Miles adds: _ay listen when i tell you that this guy was hitting every point, he was hitting every point, never mind the fact that everything he was going over could, in civilized society, be deemed as outlandish and/or wild conspiracy theories_

Gwen interjects: _yeah miles linked me up because i was skeptical but tony you gotta hear it for yourself_

Miles replies: _yeah fr fr cause he got this way of breaking it all down that’s just amazing like i don’t know who my man’s sources are but they def coming through for a young kid_

Gwen adds: _send him the one about the alien bounty hunter_

Miles likes Gwen’s last text bubble before he drops the link for the audio recording.

Tony pushes play and is floored when the sound of Dora’s son, _Eddie Brock,_  heavy Brooklyn drawl fills the empty silence of the living room.

“ _Yo, Brock here. Welcome to another edition of The Brock Report, and folks. I have just gained some rather shocking news. Now, this **is**  _ _gonna piss you off, so hold onto your hats for this one. Apparently, okay …_ **_apparently,_** _the super-secret spy organization known as_ **_SHIELD_ ** _… you still with me? The choked up stiffs in black and white suits that have been a pain in my side to prove the existence of, let alone_ **_dodge_ ** _at the same time, have gone and really screwed the pooch._

 _“I know you’re thinking, ‘Well, Brock. What d’ya mean? What are ya talkin’ about?' Well, I’m happy to tell you. As most of you know, those of you, my loyal followers, that have been tailing me ever since my humble beginnings in the endless venture of spreading truth for the sake of justice, that I got it in for a little organization called the_ **_Life Foundation._**   _For those of you who are just joining us now, first of all, go back to the beginning, this is a weird place to start, but I digress. Point is, I started this whole thing as a way to investigate my father’s murder._

 _“Boys in blue told my Ma that my pops death was a, and I quote, ‘Another run of the mill mob hit’, end quote. Though, yes, it is true that at the time my father had been working on an exposé about the gang history in Hell’s Kitchen …. he’d also been tailing an up-and-comer in the science world by the name of Carlton Drake. Again, for those of you who don’t know, or aren’t familiar with this human piece of garbage, he is the current CEO of the Life Foundation. A company, which, likes to pretend it moonlights as a forward-thinking, peace-loving, curing diseases, yadda, yadda, yadda, but! What they really do … is_ **_bury bodies._**

 _“I mean this shmuck’s got a laundry list. Let’s see: unethical experimentation, indirect mass murder, torture accusations, treachery of the slimiest degree, kidnapping, animal cruelty, and blackmail because money talks, am I right? And I could go on but that’s not what we’re here to talk about. The fact of the matter is, this is the sleazeball responsible for my father’s death. My father, who was an excellent reporter always committed to doing the right thing, and wanted to expose Drake and put a stop to his space exploration program because my pops was_ **_convinced_ ** _that whatever Drake found out there would yield no good fruit for the rest of mankind._

 _“Drake is, quite honestly, a misanthrope who is, in my excellent opinion, defined by his social Darwinism and contempt for mankind, not only as a human being himself, but as an Alpha as well. Anyway, I’m not here to rehash my father’s wrongful death but to do my civic duty to the public, that’s you, by informing you that Drake has done it. He’s done it, folks. He’s sent out a rocket ship, okay? He sent out a ship to begin his - his -_ **_crusade_ ** _of space exploration. Under the_ **_guise_ ** _… that he’s hunting for more real estate. As if he cares about what happens to any of us on Earth. No._

 _“No. Men like these … like Drake? They bring out the evil in people. That's how they make their money. They don't want you to change for the good, they don’t want to better mankind, they just want to get a leg up over and look after them and theirs. So he sent out a hunting party, right? Hunting party goes where they ain’t suppose t’go and is chased_ **_down_ ** _… by an intergalactic cop. Now, based on what I learned, Drake’s astronauts were holding something pretty serious. A lifeform, if you will. Cop shoots them out of the sky just as these astronauts hit Earth’s atmosphere, sending them careening into a site in East Malaysia._

_“I’m sure you all know about that, it was all over the news, and Drake had his PR spin it in his favor, covering up what really happened. But I digress once again. Let’s get back to the Space Cop. You’re wondering what happened to them, right? Well, once again, brace yourself. Space Cop crash lands in New Mexico … and is slaughtered by a few locals, you still with me? Who then, after which, raid Space Cop’s ship, which happens to be loaded with weapons and tech that Earth’s never seen, or shouldn’t see for at least another century! Are your minds blown yet? Hold off on that because you’re gonna wanna ask: what happened to it?_

_“I’ll tell ya. Remember when I said this was gonna piss you off? Guess what? Those weapons, that tech, all of that, is out on your streets. In your neighborhoods. That’s right. Space Cop landed in a country with the most unhealthy economic stance. This stuff is in the hands of the bad guys and, thanks to good ole capitalism, is for_   _ **sale.**  And what exactly is the government doing about it, you may be wondering, right? What they do best. Cover it up. That’s why they got those bimbos at _ **_SHIELD_ ** _running around like headless chickens, trying to track all of it down, collect, hide, and stash. And if you're still not buying what I’m selling, think about this: just recently Spider-Man went head to head with this new villain, ah, what’s he calling himself? Oh, yeah,_ **_Scorpion_ ** _… who had a shitload of those stolen weapons and tech, though not all._

 _“That’s traceable. That’s in the news, so look that up, and then you’ll see I’m not just blowing smoke out my ass here. Listen, guys … the bottom line here is that if you know of someone who came across some of this extraterrestrial gear, or you, yourself, find yourself in possession of said stolen things … you should definitely rethink your life choices, or watch your back for the stiffs in black and white suits. Or you can also do the right thing, and hand what you have over to Spider-Guy so he can float it to whoever it needs to go to. I may not be into his brand of tight-spandex vigilante methods, but I recognize that we’re on the same side. Either way, don’t be stupid … do the right thing. See something, say something, blah, blah, blah. That’s all I got for you’s guys. Join me on the next edition where I discuss the night stalking crusader vanquishing so-called, get this,_ **_vampires_ ** _in the City of Angels, and goes by the moniker ‘Blade’. Till next time, with liberty and justice for all. Brock out.”_

“Was that Eddie?” Steve says from where he’s sitting on the couch again, startling Tony, who had been rubbing at his aching temples with his eyes shut.

Tony nods with a wry grin. “Something tells me Dora has no idea.”

Steve hums in agreement between bites of his food. He chews thoughtfully for a moment, swallows, then says, “He mentioned something about being interested in investigative journalism like his dad was at the luncheon we went to the other day. Didn’t realize he was quite so ambitious to get a jump on that. I hope he’s being safe. You know, those things he’s talking about aren’t small potatoes.” 

“I like his gumption,” Tony replies with a shrug. “But I agree.” He sighs as he takes a moment to text Miles and Gwen, asking them, with a lot of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s’, to see if they can somehow track down Spider-Man while Tony tries to see what he can find out about whatever the hell SHIELD is. When Miles and Gwen agree (quite enthusiastically like a pair of groupies), he shuts down the holographic display and catches Steve up to date with their next course of action while the other man eats.

“You know, this is going to sound … it’s going to sound like something, but, the other day, well. You know the day after our fight in the, ah, dining room, and then you got drunk with Dora and came home? That morning, I was out walking, trying to clear my head a bit, and I saw this guy.”

Tony frowns curiously. “Yeah? What’d he look like?”

Steve takes a moment to put his dishes away before he returns to the couch to spend about five minutes describing the man to him.

Tony recognizes the description immediately, and jumps to his feet to track down the plasma gun, ignoring when Steve asks him what he’s doing or what’s wrong. 

It’s Coulson. There’s no way that it’s anyone else but the Agent. 

Tony’s not sure how Coulson knows he has the plasma gun, but he’s certain that Coulson remembers him, despite how long it’s been.

Steve is saying something but Tony is too focused on making a triumphant sound when he tracks the plasma gun down (it’s behind the potted plant next to the patio doors for some reason). Then he’s turning it over and over in his hands before he points it at the potted plant and shoots.

The potted plant becomes engulfed in yellow light before all of it’s color drains and slumps.

Curious.

He aims it the dining room table and shoots.

It, too, get engulfed in yellow light but nothing happens.

Tony points it at his own foot.

“Whoa! That’s - Tony, that's _enough!_ ”

Tony jumps when Steve snatches it from his hands, shoulders shaking furiously.

Steve deactivates the gun without looking, putting it on some kind of safe mode, and if Tony wasn’t so shaken by the thunderous look of outrage on Steve’s face, he’d find it kind of hot.

“Problem?” Tony remarks, jutting his chin defiantly, even though he knows in his heart of hearts, it’s the wrong move. 

Steve’s blue eyes sharpen and his side of the bond begins to writhe in upset hues of violets, and those eggplant shades of purple that only appear when he’s both angry and concerned about something. He says, “This is not how you handle a weapon.”

“I was handling it just fine!” Tony snaps, his face is prickly with heat, embarrassed at being rightfully chastised for his behavior. “I’m a scientist, Steve. The best way to -”

“No,” Steve cooly interrupts, and oh boy, his side of the bond is roaring thunderously in Tony’s mind. “No. This isn’t a debate.”

Tony holds back a particularly smart ass reply that is brimming behind his teeth under the warning stare Steve has him pinned under. His heartbeat quickens as something sparks between them, making the silence that follows thick with anticipation. 

Steve straightens his shoulders, and his presence becomes more tangibly commanding as he says, “Here’s how this is gonna work: we’re going to fix your reckless attitude. Let’s start by having you watch a documentary on gun safety and the importance of it in a country like ours.”

Tony seriously considers protesting that, but Steve’s unflinching stare sends shivers down his spine and he thinks better of it. Not a genius for nothing.

Steve continues, “But that’s not going to be your punishment. No, your punishment comes after that. And you know what I think? I think you’ll take that punishment like the good Omega you are. Right or wrong?”

“Right,” Tony chokes, feeling equal parts tongue-tied, mortified, and very turned on by his Alpha’s calm and commanding stare.

Steve nods, satisfied. “Right. So after that’s finished, you'll be taking a nap. I’m thinking about an hour and a half. You woke up too early this morning. You need more rest, especially now.”

Tony’s face twists unhappily.

Steve raises a brow and it’s enough to make Tony bristle as his face goes red. “Really don’t think you’re in a position to try and push me, but I’m generous. Go ahead, speak your mind.”

“I don’t want to go down for that long,” Tony grits out.

Steve doesn’t reply right away. He just gives Tony this measuring look that makes the Omega break out in goosebumps all over. “Okay,” he finally says. “Forty-five minutes, minimum.”

Tony relaxes and nods gratefully.

Steve continues, once he’s sure they’re on the same page, “You’ll make an effort to nap for at least forty-five minutes while I make sure we’re properly stocked. I can guess at what you want, but I’d rather you make me a list of things you think you’ll need, and it doesn’t have to just be food.”

Tony nods silently as his hands twitch anxiously at his sides.

“After your nap, we’re going to talk about what we learned.” Steve pauses and then smiles softly at Tony’s wide-eyed gaze. “Yeah, so, here’s the thing: punishments are educational for both parties involved. It’s not just for you to make adjustments on the things you think I want, but it’s for both of us to make accommodations for _each other_.”

Tony has never known, or even _heard_ of such a thing when it came to punishments, and he’s gotten more than his share of it. “I - okay.”

“Don’t worry, Tony. I don’t want to hurt you. You okay for us to keep going?” Steve waits for Tony’s baffled yet confident nod. “Good. Now, after we talk and figure a few things out, I will be rewarding you with a nice, relaxing hot bath, and I'm going to give every inch of you special attention. And I'm not sure when I want this to happen, but I'd like to taste you if you're up for it. Thinking I might even spank you.”

Oh god. The thought of it - of _that_ \- has him so overwhelmingly wet and turned on that he forgets where he is, too busy living in that visual. 

“Ah, you didn’t think I’d noticed that, did you?” Steve sounds darkly amused, which is, mortifyingly enough, even more of a turn-on for Tony. “You’re my Omega, honey. Course I’m gonna pay attention to anything that gets you goin’. What I have to give, every part of me, is yours. It’ll always be yours.”

Tony swallows dryly as his face becomes a mess of red and he’s thinking so much about how Steve can make him feel so exposed, even under layers and layers of clothes, that he almost misses the rest of what Steve is saying.

“You know, I think I might just have you sit on my face. Liked to make you cum that way, but we’ll see how we’re both feeling.”

Jesus Christ, Tony has never been so goddamn wet before - he’s soaking through his shorts.

Steve, the cruel jerk, keeps going, unaffected, “And I think when you’re ready for it, you will be thoroughly fed whatever you feel in the mood for. After that’s taken care of, I’m gonna hold you close. Tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me and what a good little Omega you are.” Here, Steve pauses and holds Tony’s gaze with that lethal half-grin of his and says, “Lastly, at the end of the night, if I think you deserve it, I’m going to give it to you good, put you all the way down, deep enough that you’re gonna wake up with nothing but a smile on your face.”

Tony chokes on any reply he would have given, his face is scorching at this point and his thighs are wet with slick. Steve has, in so many words, basically just said that he plans on dicking Tony down so good that he’s guaranteed to wake up in a better mood. 

Fuck. 

Yeah. He doesn’t stand a chance.

.

.

.

The documentary that Steve has Tony watch is called _Too Heavy to Bear_. It’s a Youtube series of videos really detailing and outlining the importance of gun safety, while also making references to the most brutal shootings America has ever seen. 

At the end of the last video concluding the series, Tony turns to Steve, who is right beside him on the couch while Tony cradles his laptop on his thighs, and says, “I didn’t - I didn’t know things were like this. Howard never - he didn’t show me - we never talked about stuff like this. I only knew about war and weapon history, the destruction and manufacturing, but never on a local or national level. I know criminals use them but I - I didn’t realize how big of an issue this was, I mean, Jesus, Steve. Sandy Hook? That’s - why aren’t we doing more?”

Steve smiles wryly at that, his side of the bond unfolds in pretty hues of bubblegum pinks. “Not much of a profit in stricter gun control, let alone the eradication. It’s the ugly side of capitalism and nationalism,” he simply explains.

Tony rubs at his face tiredly, mind whirring with this new information. He understands now why Steve was so freaked by his behavior and carelessness. “I think I’d like my punishment now,” he decides, determined to get it over with.

“Yeah? Follow me over here.” Steve stands and walks to one of the patio’s sliding doors. It’s still raining, flashes of lightning thunder across the sky. Steve reaches into his pocket and pulls out a quarter as Tony approaches. “On your knees, sweetheart.”

Tony is curious but he obeys. He drops gracefully to his knees before Steve, just like he’s been bred and trained to, preening at the way it gets Steve to shiver at the display.

“What’s the weight needed to pull a trigger?” Steve asks.

“Five pounds of pressure,” Tony recites, based on his own knowledge and the additional information from the Youtube series. 

“That’s right. The same amount of pressure it would take for you to hold this quarter up against this glass with just the tip of your nose to keep it from dropping to the ground,” Steve confirms, making it clear what he means to have Tony do. He signals for Tony to scoot forward as he holds the quarter against the glass door.

Tony scoots forward, adjusting the stance of his knees as Steve realigns the quarter so Tony can lean forward slightly and pin the quarter against the glass of the sliding patio door with just his nose. He cradles his elbows behind him and holds the position.  

“One hour, Tony,” Steve says, somewhere behind him, his gaze burning quite intently in the back of Tony’s head. “I want you to think about everything you learned. When the hour’s up, you can go take your nap, and then we’ll talk when you wake up.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Tony replies, careful not to jostle the quarter. “Thank you.”

Steve rumbles, pleased, taking a moment to rest his hand on the back of Tony’s neck before he walks away. “I’m right over here, okay? If you need me, I’m here behind you on the couch.”

Tony’s feels his shoulders relax at that but he doesn’t respond, though he’s sure Steve isn’t really looking for one, so that’s okay. He focuses his gaze out onto the patio deck where the motorcycle Riley gave to him sits under a tarp as the rain batters down on it. He almost finds himself thinking about what’s left to do to get it up and running before he shakes it off, turning his thoughts towards processing the day's events.

Steve is talking lowly behind him to Sarah, and there’s also the soft scratching of a pencil to paper that Tony recognizes as his Alpha drawing.

Tony’s face heats up when he hears Steve mention how Tony’s unavailable to talk at the moment and the reason why to Sarah, but he holds his tongue about it because Sarah is … well, she’s family and that’s okay. Plus he knows that Steve isn’t trying to purposefully embarrass him or anything. He shifts his focus again and dives into the new knowledge that Steve’s exposed him to. It's a challenge not to squirm or let his mind wander, but he wants to please Steve and that determination helps him stay the course.

The hour seems to pass in the blink of an eye.

“C’mere, honey,” Steve says gently and Tony gathers to his feet, taking a moment to stretch his sore muscles.

Tony doesn’t mind the ache, liking the way he’s earned it. He wanders over to his husband, who smiles up at him and pats his thighs with both hands with an expectant look. There’s no avoiding the way his face burns as he climbs into Steve’s lap to wrap himself around his Alpha, hiding his heated face in the curve of Steve’s neck.

“You did good, sweetheart. I’m proud of you,” Steve murmurs, running his large hands up and down the length of Tony’s spine in a soothing manner.

Tony’s eyes get a little wet at the praise, and if he squeezes Steve to himself just a little tighter, well, neither of them calls attention to it outright.

Steve continues to scent-mark him quietly until Tony can feel himself drifting with it. “There we go,” he sighs happily, the smile in his voice clear as day. “Good to go down now, you think?”

“Mhm,” Tony mumbles, eyes already closed, barely stirring when Steve carries him with just the slightest strain to the bedroom to tuck him in. 

Steve kisses him on the forehead after he swaddles him in the sheets, making sure he’s nestled comfortably before quietly promising to wake him up after forty-five minutes.

Tony’s already out like a light by the time Steve shuts the door behind himself during his exit.

.

.

.

“So.” Tony pauses to yawn, rubbing his eyes tiredly from where he’s curled up into Steve’s side as they sit smooshed together in a pile of limbs at one end of the couch. _Home Alone_ is playing quietly in the background. “Where should we start?”

“Maybe we can discuss the letter you got.”

Tony stiffens, dropping his hands to his lap. He turns his head and looks at Steve for a long stretch of time. After a while, he finally says, “ _French Toast._ ”

Steve blinks, taken aback, chin wobbling stubbornly for a moment. Yet what he says is simply, “Okay.” with a resigned sigh.

Tony has been married to this man for many weeks now and even at this point, finds himself struck with disbelief at how respectfully _good_ Steve just simply is. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling like he hit the jackpot as far as Alphas go. He thanks the universe every day that he snuck out the night of his birthday and where his rebellion led him next.

Steve, unaware, continues, “Let’s discuss your punishment then. Any concerns there? Were you okay with what I had you do?”

“Yes,” Tony answers truthfully because he is.

“Do you understand why I had you do that?”

Tony spends a moment thinking it over and finds that he does know the significance of it. He says, “I don’t like to be idle. The quarter thing made that unavoidable. It was … it was tough. My mind kept jumping to other things. But I never let it get too far. I thought a lot about what I learned, and about how I acted. And also … it didn’t kill me to take an hour to think things over, so, exercising restraint instead of jumping to action would be more beneficial than dealing with the fallout of not. I know I didn't ... I didn't handle the situation well.” His lips curl upwards, a touch of sadness to it. “I, uh, can maybe be a bit impatient when it really counts? I mean. There’s a reason why Obie and Howard never actually let me handle the weapons. It was all … all of it was mainly holographic when I was assigned projects.”

Steve seems to realize what he’s implying. “This has been the first time you’d ever held an actual gun.”

Tony nods timidly, cheeks a little pink.

Steve rubs a hand over his face, muttering lowly before he drops that hand with a determined expression. “We should have had a conversation about this a long time ago. I think because you told me what your father made you do … I assumed too much, though I did notice you were being reckless with the plasma gun. Never followed up about it like I meant to, so some of this is on me as well.”

Tony says, “I was trying to figure out how it works. It did _that_ to the plant.” He points to the slumped potted plant, once vibrant, now an ashen grey as though all life _and_ color had been zapped from it. It was a bit cartoony in a way. “Then I fired it at the table but it didn’t do anything at all.”

“And what were you thinking might’ve happened when you blasted your foot?” Steve questions, voice leveled but his mouth is slouched. 

Tony squirms against him and plays with a loose thread of Steve’s soft blue cardigan. “I wasn’t really thinking. I thought we already established that,” he says quietly, chastened. 

Steve sighs. “I’m not scolding you again, though yes, I wasn’t thrilled, still not, but I’m genuinely asking now. What do you think would happen if you aimed this at another person?”

“Hard to say without the data,” Tony admits, relaxing his shoulders when he understands that Steve isn’t upset with him anymore. “The next best thing would be to take it apart. Figure out what makes it tick.”

Steve seems to seriously mull that over, looking quite taken with that option before he voices it.

Tony perks up and ignores the fondly amused look being aimed in his direction. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Together though,” he quickly adds like he’s trying to make sure Tony doesn’t get the wrong idea about how this is all gonna go. “I have some basic knowledge about how to take apart a weapon, but I’ll let you talk me through the rest of it.”

Tony’s already nodding before Steve has even finished that sentence. “Yes, I - of course. Or I could take it apart? You could draw each part, you know, like make it into a diagram breakdown while I reverse engineer it. So, yeah. I’ve got nothing to say about you assisting me.”

Steve’s amused look deepens, soft with a certain type of fondness that makes Tony’s cheeks heat while his side of the bond swims in dark shades of goldfish orange. “Who said I was the one assisting?”

Tony’s jaw works uselessly for a second before he lets out a deep, belly laugh as Steve snickers as well. “Whatever, I guess. So long as I’m involved. We doing this now?”

“Ah, no, I wouldn’t think so.” Steve pulls him closer to kiss his temple. “Let’s worry about getting you through the next couple of days, huh? The rest of the world can wait.”

Tony shivers, shutting his eyes as an overwhelming surge of nervous anticipation thrums through him. He twists and swings a leg over Steve so that he’s straddling the older man. “I was promised a bath and a little pre-dinner corporal punishment,” he remarks lightly.

Steve chuckles as he runs his hands up and down Tony’s sides, sneaking a hand up under his sweatshirt, seeking skin. “Did I?”

Tony loves when Steve puts his hands on him. His touches are always so reverent, so attentive. He leans forward and kisses Steve gently as he nods.

Steve hums both pleasantly and thoughtfully, sneaking both hands up under his own sweatshirt being worn by Tony, smirking when Tony shivers under the assault.

They kiss slowly and lazily for a long time before the kisses turn into a continuous barrage of hot, wet, filthy open-mouth kisses.

By that point, Tony is hard and wet, writhing desperately in his Alpha’s lap while his fingers fist into the golden silk of Steve’s hair. He’s just about to beg to ride the shit out of his husband as Steve’s talented mouth starts to descend down his jaw and onto the side of Tony’s neck, sucking such sensational claiming marks there when they are rudely disrupted by Tony’s stomach gurgling loudly between them.

Steve pulls back with an amused huff and concerned blue eyes. “We need to get you fed. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”

Tony just makes a disgruntled face but lets Steve gently ease him off of his lap. “I was too annoyed and nauseated at first, and then I was just -” _devastated, furious, crushed_ “- preoccupied with other things.”

Steve gives him a measuring look but he doesn’t press. He just stands and heads to one of the intercoms to put in a request with the kitchens. “Anything you want?”

“Never had lasagna. Gwen once went on an entire thread about how great the stuff is, and about Miles’s grandmother’s recipe in particular,” Tony admits.

“Ah, yeah, Guadalupe does throw together a mean pasta bake,” Steve agrees as he leans against the wall with the intercom.

Tony is leaning over the back of the couch to see him. “How would you know that? Have you had it?”

“Fortunately, yeah, a few times. Miles used to be a student of mine a few years ago when I was still holding thirty-minute workshops on the weekends at the Rec and attending college full time during the week. The semester of my junior year, I was holding sessions covering the history and evolution of spray-painting and graffiti art. Miles was my best student, and apparently, he’d been talking me up to his grandmother that she got in the habit of inviting me over. Said since I was helping Miles find his passions, the least she could do was keep me fed up. I never complained or refused, not only cause it would’ve been rude, but also at that point, funds were so tight I’d’ve accepted anything from anyone, let alone a hot meal as good as Guadalupe can whip together.”

Tony’s heart hurts to hear that Steve had to struggle his way through college. He hadn’t ever personally experienced that, not even now, despite the jarring jump from upper class to lower. He knows money is tight for him and Steve, but Steve’s got such a good hold on their finances that it’s hardly a constant issue to consider how comfortable they are. So sure, they aren’t well-off by any means, but they were content.

Steve is saying, “What about dessert? What do we want?”

Tony smiles at the way he says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’, driving home that they are in this together for the next couple of days. “Anything with marshmallows, maybe,” he decides.

“How about some rice krispie treats?”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“Don’t know what it - Tony, you’ve never had rice krispie treats?”

“I’m really not about to repeat myself so just order them, _Paulie_.”

“ _Paulie?_ ”

“Oh, no, no, no. You absolutely _cannot_ say something like that to me after trying to make a big deal about those rice - _whatevers -_ you wanted to make a big deal about a minute ago. We are talking about the greatest bird movie of all time.”

“You have a ranking for movies about birds? Did you switch bodies with Sam? Sam, are you possessing my Omega? Cut it out. I almost put my hand down your pants.”

Tony laughs and laughs all the while Steve puts in their order with the kitchens via the intercom system, his own voice shaky with mirth. 

Steve rejoins him on the couch by the time Tony has managed to calm down, wiping tears from his eyes, cheeks pink with his humor. “What are you doing?” he asks.

Tony has snatched his phone from off the coffee table, fingers moving rapidly over the touch screen. “I’m texting Sam.”

Steve grunts in annoyance. “Please don’t get him started, Tony.”

“Too late,” Tony quips with great relish and a playful grin. “And he’s one hundred percent on my side. He says he used to try and get you to watch _Paulie_ with him millions of times when you were kids but you weren’t, and I quote, folding for a goddamn thing, end quote.”

Steve snorts as his lips curl in an exasperated half-smile. “Oh, Christ. You mean _that_ movie? Yeah, he was obsessed with it when it hit VHS. He got Bucky but I swore he’d never get me. Sorry, but neither can you.”

Tony just smirks.

“Tony. No. I mean this. I’m not watching that stupid movie.”

Tony’s smirk never falters.

“Come on, we can give the jacuzzi tub a spin while we wait for dinner. They said it’d be an hour and some change.” Steve stands and pulls Tony up with him when he goes, guiding him to the bathroom. “Stop looking at me like that. I will not, under any circumstance, ever agree to watch such a ludicrous ninety-minute film about some bird.”

**THREE HOURS LATER**

“I can’t believe I’m watching this,” Steve complains as he carefully poured himself a glass of cherry wine because apparently, it’s that serious.

Tony snorts, chewing triumphantly on a deliciously warm rice krispie bar from where he’s curled up in Steve’s lap as they sit amongst a nest of pillows on the living room floor.

They are a good distance from the flat screen perched on the wall above the fireplace, settled comfortably with their skin scrubbed clean and softened again by the lavender-scented lotion Steve insisted they put on. Or more like he insisted to _rub_ on Tony under the guise of wanting to pamper the Omega when really, he just wanted an excuse to be handsy and scent-mark the hell out of Tony again.

Tony let him, mostly because he was trying to set Steve up for the fall. He’d let Steve get himself all worked up, putting his hands over every inch of Tony’s skin before Tony had dropped to his knees while looking up at Steve from underneath his lashes.

Steve hardly put up any resistance when Tony went down on him, determined to suck his soul dry, and when he was still drunk with the high of his orgasm, Tony had sprung the request on him again. Steve had groaned, muttered something about needing a strong drink but reluctantly agreed, understanding that he’d got gotten.

Tony had never had so much fun seducing his husband for something so outrageous as watching a film about a bird. Maybe if Steve hadn’t unintentionally posed it as a challenge while Tony was on the cusp of his Heat, Tony probably would have left the whole non-issue alone. But, as is, Tony had let his hormones and his competitive streak get the best of him, though it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to watch Steve become so endearingly desperate under the mercy of Tony’s amateur, yet enthusiastic, tongue.  

Back in the present, after they'd cleared a whole tray of lasagna brought by one of the housekeepers, and decided to camp in the living room with the dish of rice krispie treats on a mound of pillows carefully arranged by Tony himself, Tony decides to strip down to nothing but his underwear while Steve lounges in nothing but Tony's sweats.

Steve is still grumbling between sips of wine, settling down when Tony sarcastically coos at him and feeds him bits and pieces of rice krispie fragments.

Tony pets him condescendingly on the top of the head before jamming the rest of his rice krispies bar into Steve’s mouth while his Alpha grunts in a complaint of the treatment. Tony ignores it and steals Steve’s glass of wine, smirking when he feels Steve get a little hard under him.

“Such a brat,” Steve grumbles around his mouthful with a furrowed brow but his side of the bond is writhing in deep, dark colors of amber reds. 

Tony purposefully squirms in Steve’s lap as he drains the glass in his hand before pouring a second glass and drinking that down halfway. He licks lips, the liquor already making his blood sing pleasantly under his skin, and passes the glass over to Steve.

Steve accepts it with a shaky hand, cheeks pink with arousal. He maintains eye contact with Tony as he takes it all down in one gulp, and that gaze basically says that he knows what Tony is trying to do.

Tony can feel warmth creeping up in his cheeks as he preens under his Alpha’s attention. He twists away so he can lower himself to sit at Steve’s side and curl around him like a Koala would on a branch. Now that he’s straddling Steve sideways, he brings the leg sprawled across Steve’s lap up a little so he can lick his hand before shoving it inside of Steve’s sweatpants.

Steve makes a startled sound, hips kicking up into the quick upstroke Tony does.

Tony keeps that up for a little bit before he stops and says, “Play the movie.”

Steve gives him a look. “Are you serious?”

“As the grave,” Tony replies as he flexes his fingers along the underside of Steve’s cock. “C’mon, Rogers. Give me some incentive here.”

Steve scrambles to locate the remote before pressing play with some impressive quickness.

Tony smirks and faces the tv, pretending to ignore Steve as he continues to flex his fingers. He wants to see how long he can do that before Steve starts to beg.

The answer is fifteen minutes. 

“Tony - _god_ \- fuck, _please._ ”

“But don’t you like it when I’m mean, Cap?”

And on and on it goes throughout the entire movie. 

He keeps Steve on edge, working a tight fist over Steve’s cock, not changing the tempo of his stroke or the pace until the credits roll. And then, only then, when Tony straddles Steve completely to shove his tongue down his throat, do his hands become a blur over Steve’s twitching girth. 

Tony suddenly wants Steve to cum as bad as Steve wants to and he wants it all over him, god, yes please, _give it here_ he begs and suddenly Steve is grunting as white splashes all over Tony’s chest and stomach. Some of it has managed to make it up to Tony’s chin, and he finds himself stretching his tongue out the side of his mouth to reach for it.

Steve groans, cock twitching in Tony’s hands at the display and he has to throw an arm over his face as he falls back to block out the sight. Then he says, “Give me a minute to come back online, but when I do, you’re in so much trouble.”

Tony starts gushing at the promise.

.

.

.

Tony is in heaven. 

Or maybe hell. 

Somewhere in between?

“God, Tony.” Steve’s caressing the globes of his ass. “Did I ever mention what a beautiful  _asset_ you have?”

Tony laughs breathlessly at the terrible joke, face to face with the headboard as he rests on his hands and knees with Steve behind him, both of them very much naked and very much worked up. The air is thick with pheromones. “Oh? Well, thanks. Yoga and Pilates, though I haven’t been keeping up with it ever since we got hitched.”

Steve just makes a thoughtful sound as he continues grabbing handfuls and shifting the perky but meaty muscles. “Far be it from me to get in the way of such beneficial regimens.”

Tony squirms as he snickers as he pushes back into Steve’s greedily wandering hands, lust fogging his mind as the first wave of his Heat slams into him, making him feel desperate to sate the carnivorous hunger clawing into his body. He says, “You’re so full of shit, Rogers. You just don’t want me to lose this ass. How shallow.”

Steve’s response is to lick his way inside of Tony and overwhelm him with his tongue until the Omega is scrambling against the sheets, begging brokenly as he begins to gape.

Tony isn’t sure what finally gets Steve to stop teasing him but he doesn’t care because he could cry at how good it feels when Steve pushes his way inside, Tony’s body offering no resistance to it all.

The both of them pause to groan at the physical intimacy, lost in the sensations and the overwhelming thickness of their combined pheromones saturating the air.

Steve’s hand suddenly comes down on Tony’s ass a few times before he begins rocking.

Tony’s toes curl up at the sensation and his arms get shaky from where he’s holding himself up.

Steve does it again, his hand raining down a series of well-placed hits that make Tony clench around Steve’s perfect girth, getting wetter and wetter with each hit. And then Steve has the nerve to say, “You know … you really hurt my feelings this morning, sweetheart.”

Tony chokes on a laugh because he knows his Alpha is exaggerating and was the even really the time to discuss that? His laughter soon turns into a wheezing gasp when Steve begins splitting him open on his cock with a determined seriousness that has Tony’s insides fluttering wildly around Steve's dick.

“See? Laughing at me now.” Steve spanks him again.

Tony’s arms shake even harder with the strain of keeping his elbows locked and he’s sincerely unsure if he’ll be able to hold himself up much longer.

“How’d I end up with such a cruel Omega?” Steve continues and adjusts the angle of his thrusts to nail Tony’s prostate dead on. 

“Oh - _oh god oh oh god -_ oh Steve - _baby_ \- oh go- _uhhhn!_ ”

Steve hums appreciatively, though it sounds breathless. “Gonna be nice t’ me tomorrow though, huh?” He brings his hand down on Tony’s ass. _Smack, smack, smack._ Steve thrusts deep a few times and it makes fireworks explode behind Tony’s eyelids. “Gonna be good?”

Tony scrambles against the sheets, crying out hoarsely in agreement, giving a shaky and desperate nod as he begins to drool.

God, how long had they been doing this now? Ten minutes? An hour? His concept of time was quickly becoming skewed, his awareness only zoning in on the satin heat splitting him open, pouring intense waves of pleasure that flood his veins like a hot liquid.

“Yeah? You gonna be good?” _Smack_ , thrust, _smack_. “You promise?”

Tony is full on sobbing, stuttering, but swearing incoherently as pure pleasure overwhelms him, his thighs trembling severely with it. His arms give out under him at the next thrust, sending his face careening into the pillows, ass in the air as his hands twitch where they’re mashed together under his chest. He’s not going to last long at all.

Then Steve is leaning forward, pushing in even deeper, Tony could almost swear he could feel it in the back of his throat. He moans at the way Steve is fucking him like he’s determined to make sure that Tony can’t even comprehend verbal language anymore, and then his Alpha is reaching around to play with his sore nipples and, yup, that does it right there, it’s over with.

Tony’s orgasm explodes all over him, making him clamp down tightly on Steve’s cock as he whines breathlessly, keening brokenly through the mind-numbing contractions. It gets so intense that Tony has to bite down on a pillow, screaming into it as Steve fucks him through his first orgasm and straight into the next.

Steve doesn’t let up until Tony's weakly cresting through his fourth orgasm, and then Steve's finally finishing deep inside while Tony trembles, groaning weakly as his hair sticks to his damp forehead. He had _long since_ lost the capacity for speech, long since lost track of all of his limbs.

With no trouble at all, Tony drops into the kind of slumber that only bone-deep satisfaction can yield.


	18. YEAR 1: PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s POV - just wanna thank those who have made it this far in the story with me, giving this amateur newcomer a chance, your comments are and have been a very important part of my writing process, so for that reason alone I have poured my heart and soul into this one - please enjoy :)

Steve wakes to the sound of paper crunching and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself submerged in a pile of origami owls. “Tony?”

There’s some rustling at the far end of the room like Tony is wading through something (probably more origami owls) before the Omega is smacking away the layer of folded paper covering Steve’s disgruntled face. 

“Firstly, good morning, it’s a beautiful day.”

Steve's gaze darts to the window. “It’s thundering even worse than it was yesterday.”

“Oh yeah ...” Tony cocks his head as if he's just noticed the commotion going on outside for the first time. “Hm, so I might’ve gone a little overboard with some construction paper I found in the small cabinet in the living room while you were asleep.”

Steve accepts Tony’s help to sit up and he freezes at the sight of the entire bedroom floor being covered with all sorts of origami animals. “How long have you been awake?”

“Four hours,” Tony mumbles, shuffling shyly on his knees beside Steve. He’s in nothing but his underwear and Steve can practically feel the elevated heat of Tony's body rolling off of him. “Woke up with cramps again. Didn’t want to wake you, though. Not after, uh -” He coughs suddenly, flushing with this dreamy yet shy look in his eye. “Not after the promise I made last night.”

Steve tries to quell his grin, knowing all too well what Tony’s referring to. He reaches out to tweak Tony’s nose gently with an exasperated smile. “I wouldn’t have minded the wake-up call for something like this,” he promises. He gestures widely at the rest of the room. “These are really good.” 

Tony flushes, pleased. “Thanks. I was watching this tutorial on Youtube and kind of ran with it.”

“Looks like you covered almost every animal.”

“Nearly.” Tony squirms shyly again as he adds, “I, uh, was thinking of looking into bugs next.”

“Yeah? Want company? I know a thing or two about dragonflies and beetles.”

Tony nods eagerly and dashes off to grab more construction paper.

For the next hour, they work in tandem, folding papers and laughing at Tony’s less than graceful attempts of mimicking what Steve is doing.

Steve has shared plenty of heats with other Omegas, but he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything quite as creative, endearing, and fun as Tony’s Time is turning out to be. 

At one point, they decide to take a break, which leads Steve into following Tony in the kitchen when Tony rambles on and on about wanting to make fruit punch from scratch.

So that’s what they do.

They make a terrible batch of purple fruit punch and Steve chokes down at least half of a cup without complaint because he loves Tony enough to suffer through his husband's less than successful culinary endeavors. He leaves Tony the rest because the Omega is way less fussy about the taste of it.

Steve thinks that if Tony wasn’t in Heat, he probably would have noticed how bitter the juice is, but he thinks Tony’s more focused on gulping down _something_ ratherthan about the nonexistent quality of sweetness.

They return to the room sometime later to continue their origami bug escapades with purple lips and purple tongues.

After a while, he notices the sweat pooling around Tony’s temples and how clumsy his hands are when he tries to fold some construction paper into a ladybug, a healthy splash of color spreading across his cheeks.

“Tony.”

Tony blinks and glances up at him with blown eyes.

“You feel a wave coming on?” Steve asks gently, drawing Tony’s attention to it because Steve is one hundred percent sure that’s what’s going on.

Tony stares at him for a long stretch of time, seeming to internally debate over it. Then he says, “You’re terrifying.”

Steve has … no idea how to take that for a moment. Which is why he says, “Ah, sorry?”

Tony snorts, looking a little dazed but confident. “Let me be clear … I’m saying you’re everything I want and everything I didn’t think I needed and I love you so much that I could suffocate. But you know what else? We click like crazy. It's terrifying sometimes how well attuned we are to each other.”

Steve is floored. He’s not quite sure what he’s done to deserve such a knee-weakening confession but, Christ, what’s that saying about gift horses and their mouths? This moment definitely qualifies. “If there’s a greater word for love to describe how I feel about _you,_ Tony, I hope to have a goddamn clue about tracking it down so that I can write it in the sky for you every day.”

Tony’s cheeks darken with a vibrant red like the healthiest hue of a rose and it makes him seem so regal, so princely - a precious gem among a sea of charming paper animals.

Steve needs Tony in his arms like yesterday. So he says, “C’mere, honey. Give me some attention.”

Tony seems to shiver in anticipation at his words, eyes fluttering before he nods wordlessly and crawls over to him.

Steve soon finds himself with a lap full of half-naked Omega, who is keening lowly as he rubs his face back and forth against Steve’s collarbone. He rocks Tony gently, scent-marking him until Tony starts to drift into subspace little by little. 

He finds himself thinking about the letter from the other day while he does. About Tony’s thunderous mood, and his hair-trigger irritation.

Honestly if it had been anyone else Steve would’ve matched it tone for tone, but with Tony, he finds he has endless patience and understanding. Plus, to tell the truth, Steve likes that Tony feels comfortable enough to speak his mind without shame, to stop flinching when he expresses himself assertively despite how subservient society claims he has to be, and to let all that ingrained emotional self-restraint maintained behind an air of aloofness falter and weaken.

He just wishes he could’ve offered better comfort to Tony over the results of his Agency. It gnaws away at him even now and pisses him off to think about how scum like Tony’s folks and his joke of a godfather was able to sleep at night knowing they’re actively ruining people’s lives. He really wishes he could knock all of their skulls together as his mind flashes back to the sound of his Omega locking himself away in the closet like he hadn’t done in days to face his demons alone.

“I can feel you thinking,” Tony mumbles suddenly. “Actually I can sense what you’re thinking.”

Steve smiles into the unruly curls on the crown of Tony’s head. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“You’re thinking that you know that I know that you know that what I really, really, really want is a juice pop. You know how I know? Cause we're connected.”

“Ah.” Steve huffs, thinking about how adorable his Omega is when he gets like this. It makes him want to both wrap Tony up in blankets, surrounding him with all his favorite things, yet also strip Tony of all his clothes, force his ankles as far back as they can go and give it to his husband until he has no voice left to cry. He clears his throat. “We feeling popsicles, Sweet Pea?”

“Mhm.”

Steve chuckles and kisses Tony’s abnormally warm and damp temple. “God, you’re so fucking cute, you know that, honey?”

“Mhm.”

Steve huffs again and can’t resist giving in to the temptation of pinning Tony onto his back and pressing their mouths together, communicating with a lot of tongue how pleased he is to be married to someone like Tony. He pulls back to look down at the lovely vision his Omega makes with mussed up hair and a kiss swollen mouth.

Tony trembles under him, blinking with a sleepy but sweet smile when Steve flattens a large hand over his lower stomach unconsciously. “Alpha?”

“Yeah, honey?” Steve replies distractedly, too busy following that mouthwatering floral scent wafting from the body underneath him to Tony’s neckline. It's making him lightheaded.

“You wanna try and put a baby in me?”

Steve literally blue-screens in his mind. Christ, Tony has no idea what that does to him.

“Juice pops first though,” Tony continues, unaware.

Steve makes a choked up noise between laughter and sputtering disbelief. He needs to be inside Tony like yesterday. “You stay right here. I’m gonna get you a whole box of juice pops, and we’re going t’ finish this conversation with fewer clothes on.”

“Man with a plan,” Tony mumbles dreamily, smirking up at Steve as he rubs his knees enticingly up and down Steve’s side, purposefully releasing more pheromones, and Steve can’t hide the shiver of desire that passes through him at the contact. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Okay calm down. You know I think you're pretty _nifty_.”

“Well I’m not perfect, but thanks for that glowing endorsement,” Steve remarks blandly, just to get Tony to do that little manic giggle laugh he does sometimes. “But if you think that’s impressive, wait till you hear what I can do most days. I can tie my own shoes, and go to the bathroom all on my own. No joke.”

Tony giggles and giggles and giggles, eyes bright and cheeks pink with good cheer. “You are a sarcastic asshole, Steve Rogers, and I think it says a lot about me that I’m totally into it. Between the two of us, our kids don’t stand a chance,” he decides.

Steve smiles crookedly as he ducks down and distracts Tony with a few lazy kisses before he pulls back and says, “Okay, okay, I’m leaving.” But he ends up kissing Tony again.

And again.

And again, again, again, because it’s really hard to stop once he starts and honestly Tony smells so good and tastes so good, he could probably survive off of Tony’s kisses alone if he were crazy enough to try. 

Tony tries to complain between kisses about the hold-up, but Steve’s pressing his mouth to the smile that Tony can’t seem to get rid of and thinks, _just one more._  One more, of course, turns into _many_ more before he gains the willpower he needs to slink away and grab the box of popsicles from the freezer. 

He takes a moment to examine the paper stuck to the fridge with Tony’s elegant penmanship outlining, what he's entitled, “list of demands”, and Steve snickers to himself over the title. He reviews the “things I like to eat” and “things I like to do” sections once, twice, three times until he’s sure he’s got it memorized. Then he crosses off ‘origami’ and scribbles a smiley face before jotting down “10/10”, planning on repeating this pattern until everything on the list is covered, leaving it there for Tony to see at any time.

When Steve returns to the bedroom, he stops in the doorway with a big, goofy smile as he watches Tony struggle to keep an origami owl balanced on the tip of his nose with a few mangled swears when he doesn’t meet much success. 

“What are you doing?” 

Tony startles, upsetting the origami owl he’d been trying, once again, to balance on the tip of his nose. He makes a mournful sound before he sits up with pout that makes Steve want to do all sorts of indecent things to him.

“I’m sorry, did I break your concentration?” Steve chuckles as he joins Tony on the bed and they work in tandem to open the chilly box of juice pops.

“Yes. I was trying to set a record. Ugh, okay, gross. What is this flavor? Banana?”

“Seems like.”

“What maniac got this fielded for production? Oh, I don’t like this at all. Trade with me. That’s cherry, right? Hand it over, Cap. Your ailing Omega demands it.”

“Does he?” Steve laughs between licks of his popsicle. “Just grab another and chuck that one. I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“But I want _yours,_ ” Tony whines obnoxiously and the coy look in his beautiful chocolate eyes make Steve’s fingers itch to put it to paper, to canvas, to a _billboard_ with Steve’s signature at the bottom beside a note that reads ‘Though the world may feast with its eyes, this is mine’. “Steve,” he sighs when he notices that Steve isn’t really paying attention.

“Hm?” Steve hums as he quickly slurps any excess juices beading off of the chilly slopes of his red popsicle. “You always want my food. You’ve got the worst case of food envy I’ve ever experienced.”

Tony snorts, wrinkling his nose in that bratty way he does when he's not getting his way fast enough but his side of the bond is saturated in cotton candy pinks and cranberry reds. “Yeah, well, you love me enough not to mind my poaching, so hand over the popsicle and no one gets hurt.”

“What’s this, a stick-up?” Steve complains but hands over his depleted popsicle nonetheless, taking the one Tony’s long since abandoned to give it a try. He actually likes it. “And you didn’t enjoy this one?” he remarks between short licks.

Tony's face twists as he sucks down Steve’s popsicle, cheeks hollowing out fetchingly before he pops it free with a wet sound. His pretty mouth is now stained red and Christ, yeah, Steve’s never been so goddamn attracted to another person in his life. He could write volumes and volumes about his Omega, pages and pages of dialogue comparing him to starlight, to the evening breeze, to sunsets.

Tony’s saying, “Didn’t I like it, he asks. Yeah, of course I didn’t like it, hence the whole switcharoo. Why? Please don’t tell me _you_ do, lamb. Ugh. What am I saying? I’m married to a man who puts _ketchup_ on his eggs. I guess taste really is subjective, huh?”

Steve smiles, and thinks, _God, the number of babies I want to fuck into you would probably make your head spin if I said it out loud. I wish I knew how you really felt about having kids because I want you to have every single one of mine._

Tony eyes him suspiciously as he continues to do indecent things to his swapped popsicle with his mouth.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just bidding his time, finishing off Tony’s popsicle for him before he rolls it back and forth between his teeth with the help of his tongue as he watches Tony demolish the entire box of popsicles. Then, when he’s sure Tony’s done, that’s when he pounces, rolling them past small hills and piles of origami bugs and animals, fingers fluttering over Tony’s sides, under his armpits, and the back of his knees.

Tony howls with delight, wriggling like a worm and spitting out threats, swearing like a sailor, voice trembling with mirth, words choppy with yelps. 

Steve eases up when there are actual tears, sitting them both up and clutching a wheezing and gasping Tony to his chest while they both ride out his struggle to catch ahold of his composure again.

“You are dead, Rogers,” Tony pants, eyes closed, but his chest is rising and falling a little gentler than it had been. “So dead. You are _meat_. You are _toast_.”

Steve chuckles and kisses him on his temple as he scoots them back against the mound of pillows so they can spoon, Steve’s chest to Tony’s back, their hands interlocked where they rest on Tony’s bare stomach. 

A companionable silence idles between them for six to seven beats.

Tony breaks it by quietly saying, “Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You know how to Cha-Cha Slide?”

Steve laughs and barely has the breath to ask what the hell Tony is talking about when he leans up to look down at him.

Tony’s smiling to himself with his eyes closed. “Kid on Youtube that showed me how to make the origami turtles kept talking randomly about school dances, and the kind of stuff you’d expect growing up as a nineties kid. He said the Cha-Cha Slide was an integral part, and I thought, well, my husband definitely went to public school. Did you ever Cha-Cha?”

“My new favorite thing is hearing you say this unironically,” Steve snickers before he settles down, clutching Tony even closer because his Omega is the most precious thing in the world during subspace. “Yeah, I know all about it. Why? You want me to teach you?”

“If the mood strikes.” Tony shrugs right before he completely dozes off, leaving Steve to deal with all of that.

Steve huffs and presses his nose behind Tony’s ear where his cute little ‘bunny’ birthmark is, savoring how Tony is nothing but warm lines where he’s pressed tightly against Steve, mouth slightly open as his lashes twitch over his pink cheeks. He’s still running pretty hot but that’s unsurprising considering the circumstances.

He lifts his head and glances around at the origami chaos that surrounds them and decides he’ll have to deal with straightening up later. For now, he snuggles closer to Tony, closes his eyes, and lets the smell of peaches, pine-cones, and something metallic wafting from his Omega send him adrift for a little while.

He dozes off eventually and dreams, quite meticulously, about the kind of wedding band he wants to put on Tony’s ring finger.

.

.

.

Steve feels good. Really good.

That in and of itself isn’t necessarily abnormal.

It’s the _way_ he feels good that’s sort of peculiar; pleasure spreads throughout his body, resonating from between his legs. There’s something hot, wet, and slick gliding up and down his cock with the kind of enthusiastic suction that nearly sends him face-first into a bone-melting orgasm. If it wasn’t for the sluggish and disoriented buzzing in his brain from being pulled away from sleep a little too soon, he might have given into the sensation.

“Oh … _fuck,_ ” Steve breathes when it hits him that it’s Tony tucked away under some of the blankets, giving him the blowjob of a lifetime. “Ah - _Tony._ ”

Tony doesn’t pause for a minute, seeming spurred on even further by the fact that Steve is completely awake now and falling apart under the continuous pressure of his mouth and tongue.

Another moan escapes Steve as he yanks the blanket away to watch Tony bob up and down like he can’t get enough, like he absolutely needs it, his long lashes twitching against his flushed and hollow cheeks, hands moving in tandem with his mouth. Steve groans and feels like he just might die, both from how good it feels and from the incredible sight of his Omega sucking him off like he’s rewarding himself for something Steve knows nothing about.

“ _Christ_ , honey - you settin' me up for something here? Whatever y-you want, it’s - it's yours - oh, _god_.”

Tony laughs around him, pulling off completely with a wetly lewd sound. His full mouth is red and shiny with precum while he says, in a hoarse voice that makes it clear he’s been deepthroating Steve this whole while, “I just - I needed it, Steve. You’re always treating me so perfectly and I wanted to - I _needed_ this. Let me have it, please. Come on, give it to me. Show me I’m yours. Show me I’m good. Haven’t I been good, Alpha? Come on, come on, _come on_. Want you to cum on me. All over me, in me. I want it everywhere.”

Steve nearly whites out with how quickly his orgasm slams into him without warning when Tony swallows him down again. 

Tony even seems surprised by it, quickly pulling off so he can take the hit, making these little indecent cooing noises of satisfaction as Steve shoots, jet after jet, splashing all over his face. 

“Christ, Christ, _Christ_.” Steve is wheezing and panting, almost certain he’s going to have to grab his inhaler but the tightness in his chest seems to vanish on it’s own. He closes his eyes to continue to work himself down into a calm state, but there are still spots dancing behind his eyes. Not to mention that he’s still hard and twitching in Tony’s hands, which are clinging to his dick in a firm, yet lovingly possessive manner. “C’mere,” he mumbles, still panting.

Tony lets go and crawls up his body eagerly, sloppily, catching Steve in the ribs a few times (accidentally) with his elbows. He apologizes a thousand times for it.

Steve shushes him and works on licking Tony’s face clean, smiling to himself at the way Tony purrs affectionately under the attention. “That was amazing,” he promises when he pulls away after maybe like fifteen minutes or more. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. I love you so much. You make me happy.”

Tony has that dazed, dreamy look in his eyes again, and the flush of arousal on his face has spread across his body. He’s shivering, trembling with desire so blatant that Steve hardly needs to pay attention to the way his side of the bond is simmering in the darkest marigolds and burgundy. 

“It’s starting to hit you pretty hard, isn’t it?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer because he can literally feel Tony’s slick dripping onto his lower stomach from where Tony’s straddling him. 

Tony nods with a whimper, pressing a hand to his own stomach. “Hurts.” He winces as more slick eases out and he begins exuding a strong wave of floral-scented pheromones. “Please. _Please,_  Alpha. Make it stop,” he begs. “Hurts so bad.”

Steve reaches out and combs his finger though Tony’s damp hair with a sympathetic sound. “Don’t worry, little Omega. I’m going to make it better. Turn around.”

There isn’t even an ounce of hesitation when Tony follows the command. Actually, he nearly kicks Steve in the face in all the commotion. “Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Tony quickly says, glancing over his shoulder at Steve with a partially annoyed (but still dreamy) expression. “Probably should’ve warned you that I’m like a newborn calf or something, all knobby knees and elbows. My body just - it just doesn’t cooperate with me when I’m Heat drunk.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Steve promises, feeling lightheaded himself as the scent of Tony’s slick slams into his senses in a sudden spike that wafts the air with another overpowering wave of flowery pheromones. “Your body’s really working overtime to tempt me. Waste of energy, though. I always want you, honey. All the goddamn time. Scoot back.”

Tony flushes as he gets wet with the praise, as he’s want to do, and he bites his bottom lip unsurely as he continues to glance at Steve from over his shoulder with lids lowered at half-mast. He certainly sounds tipsy as he slurs, “I thought - thought you were going to - aren’t you going to f-fuck me?”

Steve’s cock is definitely interested but there’s something else he’s aching to try. “You’ll get plenty of that, don’t worry.”

Tony groans a bit impatiently.

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay. It’s yours, sweetheart. You know it’s yours, always, whenever you want it. But I need you to indulge me for a moment, okay? Scoot back.”

“Why?” Tony’s trembling, his blush darkening, proving that he already knows exactly why but he’s being shy. “Can’t I just -”

“In a minute. Come on, I’m not punishing you. You’re good. You’re always good, honey. I wanna show you that. Come sit on my face for a bit.”

Tony turns his face away sharply, probably to hide his expression and how eager he is, which Steve thinks is unfortunate because he’d like to see it.

 _We’ll work up to that,_  Steve mentally decides, watching patiently as Tony moves backward with painstaking slowness. _We’ll do this as many times as we need to until we get rid of that bashfulness._

It takes some awkward rearranging here and there. 

Mostly Steve has to have Tony’s knees sandwiching his lower ribs, tucking his calves under Steve’s shoulders, which does give Steve the leverage he needs so he doesn’t have to cran his neck up so much. He uses the grip he has on Tony’s mid-thighs to pull him backward when Tony hesitates a little too much to lower himself onto Steve’s face.

“Steve, I don’t think -” Tony’s cut off mid-sentence with a choked up noise that sounds like the mutant sound between a gasp and a moan when Steve dives his whole face between Tony’s cheeks and starts licking everywhere wildly. “Holy - holy _shit!_ ” Tony yelps, body jerking forward when Steve’s palm slaps down on his left ass cheek. “Oh - oh _fuck_.”

Steve chuckles and he knows it sounds a bit strained. He pulls back and says, “C’mon, little Omega. Sit on me like you mean it. Promise you won't hurt me.”

Tony moans and starts actively rolling his hips back onto Steve’s mouth. “God, I - I know but I don’t want to suffocate you,” he whines.

Steve hums appreciatively, licking his way inside of Tony for a few drawn-out seconds before he pulls back again, smirking when Tony tries to follow before he gets ahold of himself. “You ain’t gonna suffocate me, Tony. Quit worrying.”

“But - _ah!_ ” Tony yelps when Steve’s palm smacks down on his right cheek this time with a loud, satisfying _clap._  

“See now, I was just trying to get you warmed up, but I don’t think I’m fond of how much you’re fighting me on this. This ain’t about me, honey. It’s about you, and now I think we need to make you cum like this before we get to the main event.”

Tony laughs shakily. “So you’re punishing me now because I don’t want to crush you?”

“You can think of it as a punishment, but I’d prefer to think of it as encouragement.” Steve leans up and gives a slow lick that makes Tony moan so breathlessly that his thighs shake with it. “A sweetener, if you will,” he adds. “Now,” he spanks Tony again, just to get him to groan in the way Steve likes. “Be good, and _sit on me like you_ _mean it_.”

“Fuck,” Tony whispers, voice in tremors. “Okay - _Jesus_ , okay. Tap me if it’s too much.”

"You got it."

"Okay."

Steve groans appreciatively when Tony finally rests all his weight back, rocking and rocking onto Steve’s tongue. He runs his hands up and down Tony’s thighs, pausing once in a while to slap and spank at the thickness there before massaging the ache away by pawing at the trembling flesh.

“Oh _fuck,_ baby - ah!” Tony lets out an almost scandalized yelp when Steve begins to rain down a series of spankings to his inner thighs, enough to make them quake and turn pink. “You’re gonna make me cum! Oh god, you’re gonna make me cum!” he warns breathlessly.

Steve buries his face as deep as he can go, pistoning his tongue in as Tony cries out. He groans at how sweet and carnal his Omega tastes.

That seems to get Tony worked up even more, urging him to completely let go of his squeamishness from earlier to lower himself further so he can grind down onto Steve’s mouth and tongue until Steve’s lower face is drenched with his slick. 

Steve knows the exact moment that Tony is getting close because his Omega is reaching down to wrap a hand around his leaking cock, working that hand up and down with a desperate pace until he locks up all over.

Tony’s sobbing by the time he’s shooting all over himself and Steve, contracting wildly around Steve’s tongue like his body is trying to suck up the appendage completely and hold it captive. Then Tony collapses all at once as if his strings have been cut, mewling softly from where his warm cheek is resting against the top of Steve’s thigh.

Steve chuckles and gives Tony’s ass an affectionate smack, watching the plump muscle jiggle while Tony gives a disgruntled moan in response. “Mm, good job, honey. See? Wasn’t so bad, right?”

“I’m seriously thinking about biting you,” Tony mumbles into Steve’s thigh. “But yeah, that was - I don’t have words.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Steve merely says, enjoying the view. He says as much out loud and laughs when Tony quickly rolls off of him just to give him a light kick.

“You’re obscene.”

“So is your body, but you won't ever hear me complaining.”

Tony laughs up at the ceiling tiredly near Steve’s knees. “Yoga and Pilates.”

Steve just hums and cups a hand over the swell of Tony’s calf muscle. “How are we feeling?”

“Eh.” Tony lifts a shaky hand to wobble it back and forth. “Hungry for food, hungry for you.” Then he adds, “Is it weird that I kind of want to eat sushi off of your body?”

“Not sure, but I wouldn’t object.”

Tony laughs and shakes his head fondly. “You need to stop endorsing my shenanigans, Rogers.”

Steve just kisses his own front teeth with no reply and lets a comfortable silence rest suspended between them. It’s still raining out, he notices after a minute or two. 

Their room is bathed in shadows caused by a darkly grey sky that flashes once and a while with veins of white lightning.  

Steve blinks when he hears Tony snoring faintly and sits up on his elbows to confirm his suspicions. Yup, his Omega is out like a light again. He smiles fondly and shuffles over to wrap and swaddle Tony in a fleece blanket marked heavily with Steve’s scent before dragging him over to the mound of pillows at the head of the bed.

Once he’s satisfied that he’s got Tony properly settled and comfortable, he kisses one of Tony’s twitching eyelids before climbing off the bed to do some cleaning. After he locates one of Tony’s sweats and hops in them, he wanders around with a garbage bag he’s able to get from one of the cabinets in the kitchen and collects all the origami animals and bugs. 

Tony’s still napping by the time Steve finishes an hour and a half later. He figures that while Tony is still down, he can look into some food. He’s not a hundred percent sure if Tony actually wanted sushi until he remembers that it’s on Tony’s list. So he puts in an order with the kitchens before wandering over to the fridge to grab the carton of blueberries (as well as a few bottles of water) for Tony and an apple for himself (which he demolishes in under five minutes). 

When he backtracks to the room, Tony is still sleeping, so he puts the waters and the blueberries within viewing distance before he slips into the bathroom to start his morning routine, even though it’s rolling into the afternoon at this point. He even takes the time to give Drew (Tony’s cactus) a little water from where Tony has the small plant settled in the bathroom and “keeping Mercury company” as Tony has taken to phrasing it.

Steve isn’t really surprised when Tony comes looking for him, cornering him in the shower just as he’s rinsing conditioner from his hair. He ends up three fingers deep inside Tony, who is already gaping eagerly, doing his damndest to make Tony lose his mind but also make sure neither of them slip, fall, and break anything valuable. There are a couple of close calls but they somehow make it work.

He finds it interesting that Tony always ends up so wrung out after he cums, but he supposes that the combination of hormones and the Heat itself probably doubles the intensity of his orgasms. He nearly falls asleep in the shower while Steve is in the process of scrubbing both of them down but he perks up when he learns there’s going to be food in the near future.

Steve notices that Tony has already demolished the cartoon of blueberries and the bottles of water by the time they return to the room to put on the bare minimum of clothes. He’s definitely staring at the way Tony looks in nothing but underwear and a cropped sweatshirt that reads ‘MIT’ in bold lettering.

“Quit gawking at me,” Tony complains with a mouthful of food as they sit opposite each other at the dining room table with rows and rows of sushi between them sometime later. “Seriously, what’s your deal?”

Steve shrugs, chewing and then swallowing before he says, “You got more of those?”

“More of what?”

Steve makes a vague, wavy gesture to Tony’s sweatshirt.

Tony chews with a frown, glancing down at himself before lifting his head again. “A crop top?”

Steve nods as he sucks some wasabi off of his thumb.

“I mean, yeah, a few but I don’t wear them like that. Only when I’m running hot. Which is usually when I’m in Heat or when I’m working out.” Tony takes the time to eat some more sushi rolls before he adds, “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Steve replies innocently, and purposefully leans back in his seat so he can cock his head before giving his husband a once over while he mentally undresses Tony with his eyes.

Tony’s cheeks bloom with a deeper shade of red that’s in no way related to his Heat. “Ah,” he says weakly. “You, um, you like it, don’t you?”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk while Tony snorts, ducking his head shyly before he rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay.” Tony snickers and shakes his head. “You’re cute.” He pops another sushi roll in his mouth. “You like looking at my stomach that much, huh?”

“It’s a nice stomach.”

“Oh whatever,” Tony laughs between bites. 

They spend the next hour eating and talking about whatever comes to mind while Tony is still lucid enough to enjoy it. 

Steve sits back in the end, and watches Tony go to town on all of the sushi when Steve has to tap out, feeling way too full to continue. 

Tony rambles on and on about this dream he had about a time-travel machine, hands moving excitedly with his words as he stuffs his face, playfully ignoring when Steve mock lectures him for it.

At one point, Steve becomes enraptured by Tony’s smile. The way his lips lifted upward. The way his big brown eyes crinkle at the corners. The way his teeth are perfectly aligned. The warm glow his happiness gives. 

Steve thinks to himself, _If your smile is a ray of sunshine, then I always want maximum exposure - I want to be a sunburn._

.

.

.

Steve thinks it’s funny how much Tony’s got him wrapped around his finger.

Because here he is, watching the original _Indiana Jones_ trilogy by himself with Tony snoring softly from where he’s curled up in Steve’s lap in a food coma while he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. It’s funny because Steve knew it would happen. He’d seen how much Tony had eaten during lunch. It was only a matter of time, which is why he’d tried to persuade Tony to put something on the TV that Steve could be wholeheartedly invested in.

But, of course, Tony had gotten that mutinous, stubborn look in his eye - he’d even pouted, for god’s sake - until Steve caved to his suggestions. He’d never really liked Harrison Ford as an actor, at least not as much as his Ma and Bucky did, but he always preferred to avoid any of the guy’s movies because Steve wasn’t all that impressed by his acting abilities. 

That hadn’t seemed to matter to Tony though, who went back and forth with him about marathoning the _Indiana Jones_ movies. He knew Tony would fall asleep and tried to use that as a basis for his argument but Tony wasn’t having it. He'd gotten his way by sheer stubborness alone.

Tony had lasted the first movie, making little jokes here and there to get Steve to stop being, what he termed as, a ‘grumpy gills’. 

Steve had been charmed by it at the time and minimized his complaining, but not even halfway through the sequel was Tony dozing off, leaving Steve to fend for himself. Technically, he could just turn it off, but he’d hate for Tony to wake up to it and then give him hell after they’d made such a big deal about the whole thing.

So he rides it out and accepts that Tony has him completely and utterly whipped. 

“Mm,” Tony hums as he blinks awake just as the credits are rolling. “Put on the next one.”

“Do we really have to?” Steve’s not proud of how his voice lilts into a subtle whine.

Tony doesn’t even bat a sleepy eye at it, the cruel little monster. In fact, he’s smirking at Steve, eyes calculating like the whole situation was funny somehow, and repeats, “Put on the next one.”

“You slept through this whole movie,” Steve points out but he puts on the next movie.

Tony just pets his cheek condescendingly before he dozes off again. Though, he startles awake twenty minutes later at the sharp clap of thunder, which consequently makes all the lights go out. He whimpers, hiding his face into the side of Steve’s neck.

“S’okay,” Steve murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into his lower back. “It’s just the rain. Rain can't hurt us, sweetheart. We're inside and safe. I’m sure the power will be up in a moment.”

Tony trembles in his lap, sniffing with a nod.

“Darn,” Steve continues with a mock sigh. 

Tony makes a confused sound.

“It's just that I was really starting to get into those movies too,” Steve lies, easy and unconvincing.

Tony laughs into the side of his neck. “You’re so full of shit, Rogers.” He shivers again as another roll of thunder roars in the sky. His scent begins to spike with pheromones as he whimpers.

“You okay?” 

Tony shakes his head, lifting his head as his cheeks fill with color and his gaze goes a little hazy. “Cramping again,” he grits out with a white-knuckled grip on Steve’s shoulders. His teeth begin to chatter. “Steve …”

“Name the position and we’ll do it.”

Tony chokes on a laugh, but it’s strained. “You’re ridiculous.” He shudders again, biting his bottom lip roughly when another intense wave passes over him. By the end of it, he’s panting, sweating a bit, and thoroughly worked up. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, let me just -” He wiggles away for a moment, stripping himself of his underwear before pulling Steve out of his pajama bottoms so he can swing a leg over, twisting around to face away from Steve.

Steve is swimming in the haze of Tony’s pheromones, which seem to be leaking from Tony nonstop, and groans when Tony maintains a steady grip on his cock while he slowly sinks down on it.

Tony whines as his inner walls spasm eagerly around Steve during the glide down. He pants, as though getting Steve inside had been a major hurdle in and of itself, making Steve worry slightly. But before he can voice the concern, Tony’s saying, “Fuck, that’s so good. Have I mentioned how perfect your dick is because my _god,_ Steve, you’ve ruined me.”

Steve chokes on any reply he would have given because Tony doesn’t waste a single second before he’s lifting up before shoving down.

Tony's bouncing up and down on Steve’s cock, using the bare-knuckled grip he's got on Steve’s thighs to work himself back and forth and up and down and back and forth and up and down.  

Tony’s sighing with breathless pleasure as he twists his hips just _so_ and he jerks with a short cry when Steve’s cock skirts across his prostate. The pleasure must be so intense for him that he has to pause as he clamps down tightly on Steve, causing the older man to groan, both of them made breathless with the inaction.

“Feels good, huh?” Steve pants, unable to help himself when his Omega makes such pretty noises for him like that, spurring on his Alpha pride. “Look at you, honey … you need me to help you move?”

Tony moans shakily as he trembles over Steve. Then he says, “You’re not - not asking to be nice.” Then he tosses Steve a look over his shoulder that makes Steve laugh, feeling caught.

Steve leans forward to press their mouths together, knowing it’ll do something to the angle and he can’t help but smirk when Tony spasms around him with a sharp gasp as his cock skirts over Tony’s prostate again. 

The quaking of Tony’s body becomes more pronounced as he begins rocking up and down, breaking out of the kiss so he can lean forward and ride Steve with such ambition, such commitment.

Steve gets lost to the sensations, to the pressure and molten lava heat of Tony’s body stretching out over him, up and down, his insides seeming to cling and keep Steve’s cock right where it was needed the most. He loves the way Tony feels, love the way he looks, the little tremble in his shoulders, the soft clap of their bodies colliding, and the husky, hitch-pitched gasps pouring out of his Omega’s mouth like an endless fountain of verbalized pleasure. He could happily die like this.

Tony suddenly slows to a stop, gulping in air as his body shakes with a few tremors, and Steve tries not to complain as his hands tighten over the soft dips and curves of Tony’s hips. He doesn’t want Tony to feel rushed, but dear god, Steve wants to cum so bad.

“You okay?” Steve pants behind him, feeling damp all over with sweat. They've been at this for a while.

There’s a beautiful sheen of sweat layered over Tony’s tan skin, giving him a faint glow, even in the darkness of the living room and the power outage that’s still going on. Steve will have to look into that when he’s not too busy thinking with his dick.

Tony says, “Promise you’ll knot me when we go to bed tonight. I just - I need to know that you’ll do it.”

Steve’s heart skips a bit at the request, and all at once he feels both queasy with nervousness and yet elated with anticipation. It’s an interesting cocktail of emotion that he’s always faced with whenever he’s asked to give up his knot. But he loves Tony, would do anything for him, would even face a few fears and ignore his most deeply rooted insecurity.

“I haven’t asked because - because I know you said it takes a lot out of you. But I want it.” Tony finally starts moving again, and a groan starts bubbling up deep within Steve’s chest. “I want it, Steve. I want to know that it’s mine. That it’s just for me.”

“F-fuck,” Steve grits out, head swimming with the relentless onslaught of a combination between Tony’s pheromones and the assertive swerve, twist, and gallop of his hips. He’s quite literally fucking Steve into a stupor. “ _Christ, Christ, Christ_ , yes - Tony - honey - anything you want.”

“Yeah?” Tony moves faster and he twists his head to aim a dazed smirk over his shoulder at Steve. “You’ll give it to me, Alpha?”

“Yes, _god_ , yes.”

“You promise?” Tony pants but never ceases the tempo of his hips.

Steve nods wordlessly as his pleasure builds and builds to new heights, leaving him speechless and dumbfounded.

“Cross your heart?” Tony is speaking between quick, short breaths. He rides Steve even faster. “Did I - oh, fuck, _fuck_ \- did I ever mention I used to - ah, _shit_ \- I used to take horse - horseback lessons?”

Steve is going to fucking cum if Tony keeps that up. “Please, please - _gah_ , please!”

“Why?” Tony’s laughing breathlessly like a little brat. “You gonna cum?”

Steve gives a garbled reply as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

“Good, because I love you so much and I don’t - don’t want to give this to any - _anyone else_ but you.”

Steve’s hips jerk up once, twice, and then he’s emptying inside of Tony, blood roaring in his ears louder than the thunder outside and he nearly whites-out at how good, how savage, how overwhelming his orgasm feels as it rips right through him. 

When he comes to, still leaning back against the couch, Tony’s coming down from his own orgasm and is sprawled on his back on the floor in a boneless heap beside Steve’s legs with his chest heaving, eyes closed, but a triumphant smile on his face. 

“Satisfied?” Steve asks with an amused but grin.

“Mhm. Got you good.” Tony opens his eyes and looks directly at him, his side of the bond flares with different hues of purple. “Told you, you were toast.”

“Ah, so this was revenge sex.”

“Vengeful love-making,” Tony corrects cheerfully as he presses a foot to Steve’s chest, his smile widening when Steve rests his large hand over that ankle. “Took a few pointers from the best,” and here he wiggles his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve snorts and then blinks just as the lights come back on, that stupid movie picking up where it left off before the blackout on the flatscreen.

Tony laughs at the scowl on his face. “Would you give it a rest already? They’re not that bad.”

“Says you,” Steve grumbles as he glances back down at his grinning Omega. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

Tony paints a lovely picture when his face gets all blotchy and pink, his cropped sweatshirt drawing attention to his thick waistline, smatters of cum running down his thigh and smeared over his stomach. He looks thoroughly debauched and so deliciously content that Steve gives serious thought to going down on him.

“You look like you want to eat me alive.”

Steve blinks out of his fantasies where he was doing just that and gives his husband a roguish half-smile. “Could do,” he admits.

“Hm,” Tony hums and glides the foot resting against Steve’s chest up to the side of his neck before hooking his ankle, tugging Steve forward. “Help yourself, Cap.”

Steve does, thoroughly, until Tony’s gasping like a fish out of water.

He only lets up when Tony’s fingers thread with a painful grip in Steve’s hair while he shoves Steve back, a plaintive wail in his voice as he begs, “Enough, enough, god - _ah!_ Steve, I can’t again. I can’t.”

Steve crawls up his body to kiss him quietly, plundering his mouth lazily while the TV watches _them_ instead of vice versa.

.

.

.

Steve somehow manages to talk Tony into watching the 1976 version of _Freaky Friday,_  the 1961 version of _Parent Trap,_ and the 1975 version of _Escape to Witch Mountain._

They marathon these movies in between munching on small snacks like popcorn, graham crackers, carrots with hummus, and pineapple chunks, while also going through a list of DIY activities like tic-tac-toe with paper plates, making shoebox theaters, bowling with toilet paper rolls they color and paint beforehand, constructing a small city of cardboard they later demolish while pretending to be Godzilla vs. King Kong, and so on and so forth. 

Again, Steve has shared plenty of heats with other Omegas, but they never helped Steve get in touch with his inner child in such a fun and imaginative way like Tony’s does. He basks in the joy, in the innocence, in the child-like wonder they navigate together like a pair of innovative voyagers on a quest for juvenile ingenuity.

After a dinner of loaded cheeseburgers with sweet potato fries and creamsicle milkshakes, they remain at the table on opposite ends to play paper football in nothing but their underwear. 

Because Tony likes to keep things interesting, he suggests ‘raising the stakes’ by having each goal be an opportunity for the person who scores to command the other person to mimic the sound of any animal they can think of.  

“Yes!” Tony hisses when he scores yet again with a lopsided grin. Then he squirms with this little goofy dance, ending it with a wild gesticulation of ‘jazz hands’. He accidentally bumps his funny bone into the edge of the table with a, “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes. Ugh, I’m okay. So. Okay … um, back to you. How about … we have you do an elephant.”

“An _elephant?_ ” Steve echoes, greatly exaggerating his outrage as Tony snickers. “You’re really trying to embarrass me, huh?”

“Chop, chop,” Tony merely replies, clapping his hands together with the words as he eagerly waits.

Steve does a god awful rendition of an elephant’s trumpet sound.

Tony laughs, loud and genuine, but also so hard that tears well up in his eyes. 

If Steve wasn’t so in love with that particular sound, he’d be annoyed. “Okay, okay, come on. It’s my turn. Hold still.”

Tony’s laughter eventually trails off into snickers as he rearranges his hands into a goal post. “Ready when you are,” he announces from the other end of the table. “Don’t choke again.”

“Oh I did _not_ choke, stop saying that,” Steve complains as he concentrates on lining up the shot, even though, yes, technically he did choke but he’s not going to give Tony the satisfaction. He shoots - he scores. “Hm, let’s see.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he swipes the paper football from off the floor and straightens with a blankly amused look while he waits to see what Steve will decide.

Steve knows all at once what he wants Tony to do and he grins slyly. “Sheep or a lamb. Either one.”

“Oh _fuck_ you!” Tony cries, his side of the bond sparkles brightly with pinks and reds and purples, and they both laugh. “That’s so petty, oh my god.”

“Tick, tock.”

Tony lifts both his middle fingers as he bleats and bleats and it’s absolutely terrible.

Steve laughs so hard his stomach nearly hurts. “You sound like - like you’re drowning the poor things.”

“Ha. Haha. Look at me in stitches,” Tony flatly retorts but there’s no hiding the way his lips twitch with mirth while his side of the bond darkens in deep eggplant hues of purple. “It’s on me now, come on.”

Steve assumes the position with his hands.

Tony’s hands are shaking so bad as the next wave hits him, causing a pink flush to settle on his face, his gaze going a bit dazed again as he lines up his shot only to miss by a mile. “Do over. The sun was in my eyes.”

Steve would normally indulge him but he’s so behind in points that he’s not feeling particularly generous at the moment. He’d have to make it up to Tony later. For now, he scoffs and says, “I call malarkey, it’s nine o’clock at _night_.”

“The moon then. I’ve been blinded by a moonbeam.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “A little Boy was set to keep, a little flock of goats or sheep…”

“Oh don’t you dare ‘Boy Who Cried Wolf’ me right now, Rogers. You can go sit on an egg.”

Steve laughs at the mere fact Tony immediately recognized the poem. “Yeah, and how’d you know off the top of your head what I was reciting?”

“So not only do you want to call into question my integrity but also my education? Of course I recognized it. My professors loved making me write it a thousand times during detention. It’s burned into my brain at this point.”

Steve wrinkles his nose disapprovingly. “Did they really?”

“Oh yeah, big time. Boarding school was a piece of cake, to be honest. Though my teachers, however, weren’t so fond of the fact that I seemed to comprehend the lessons better than they did. Needless to say, I spent most of my afternoons in detention during the first couple of years before I learned to just keep my mouth shut about any mistakes I spotted.”

Steve doesn’t like to think too deeply about how lonely and isolating Tony’s education was. He just knows he’s going to make an effort to try and give Tony everything he missed growing up when it comes to companionship and affection. 

“Anyway. _Non avere peli sulla lingua._ ”

“What?”

“ _Non avere peli sulla lingua,_ ” Tony repeats effortlessly, accent cutting through the air like a gorgeous steel blade. “It’s something my _nonna_ used to say when I was a kid. It’s like, uh, how do I put this? It’s hard to really translate. I’m literally just saying ‘no hair on your tongue’. English equivalent would be like, ‘no skin off my nose’, I think? Basically, it’s no big deal.”

“Ah.” Steve ponders that for a moment. Then he says, “I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”

“And I didn’t know you spoke French, but here we are,” Tony volleys back with a cheeky grin. “I speak a handful of languages actually, but my roots are Italian on my mother’s side. It’s the culture I connect with the most, mainly because my grandparents kind of drilled it into me growing up in a way my mother never tried. I think she’s ashamed of it for some reason, couldn’t tell you why.”

“What else can you speak?”

Tony lists off the languages and even demonstrates when Steve asks him to, switching back and forth between them all without even batting an eye. 

Steve suddenly feels very intimidated and he says so.

Tony grins at him fondly. “Why’s that, lamb?”

“Just proves how completely out of my league I always suspected you were.”

Tony rolls his eyes even though he goes a little pink with the compliment. “Flatterer,” he mumbles before he shakes his head. “Trust me when I say that _you_ are more than I deserve.”

“Now I don’t believe that for a second. I’m making do with what I got but I can’t pretend for a second that if mere chance hadn’t brought us together, I never would’ve had a shot.”

Tony gives him a long, considering look like he knows something Steve doesn’t. 

It’s enough to give Steve butterflies, and he’s pretty sure his ears are red too. 

Finally, Tony’s face shuffles through a variety of expressions like a deck of cards before landing on something sober and serious when he says, rather serenely, “Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. Money and status make for terrible bedfellows, believe me. All the Alphas who asked my parents for my hand were entitled knotheads who just wanted to breed and brag. And, yes, my parents would have laughed you out of house and home if you had tried your hand at it but none of that matters because _I_ chose _you_. You let me, Steve. Alphas don't let themselves be picked. They do the picking, but not you. You let me have you. That’s what makes you different - what makes you special. All of them tried to make the choice for me, but you let _me_ decide and you supported that decision. You gave me your trust, and you see me for me. That alone is more valuable to me than the promises of riches or power. And it’s because of you that I believe in fate.”

Steve is floored. He’s literally speechless. Tony has, in so many words, completely discredited some of his deepest insecurities.

“I think you should take me to bed now,” Tony decides, holding his gaze with a heated look. Then he stands and rounds the table, pulling Steve to his feet and holding him close. “Come on, lamb.” He presses a tender kiss to Steve's lips. “Come and make love to your husband. Make me cry.”

.

.

.

It’s … different this time. 

When they make love, it’s different - more intimate. More meaningful.

Steve finds freedom and acceptance between Tony’s thighs. As embarrassing as it is to admit, he cries in the crook of Tony’s neck as he shoves himself as deep as he can go, changing Tony’s breathing with every thrust, chasing after Tony’s moans timed to the movement of his body.

Tony trembles under him but clutches him close, babbling tender affirmations of love as he accepts Steve into his body, into his heart; the facade he shows the world melts away.

They are entangled at this moment together, and every kiss has raw intensity behind it - they breathe in sync nearly, heart rates galloping faster. 

Steve swears that every point of contact between their bodies sets each one of his nerves on fire. Something electric sizzles in the air between them; they are united soul and body. This is the kind of intimacy that stretches gracefully into the purest form of physical truths, in dreams and wishes. His knot swells up before he even knows it’s happening.

Tony makes a disgruntled noise when Steve quickly pulls out before it can catch and he laughs at the murderous glare aimed his way.

“Hang on, honey, let’s face this way to make it easier,” Steve pants. “I just want to make sure we’re comfortable. You’re going to be stuck to me for a while.”

Tony blinks up at him before the words sink in before he’s turning onto his side so they can both face the same direction.

Steve scoots in close, dropping his forehead to Tony’s shoulder while he lines up and sinks back inside, groaning lowly, shakily.

Tony gives a hiccuping sob, reaching behind him to thread his fingers in Steve’s hair.

Steve doesn’t waste a single second before he’s picking up his tempo again, biting down on Tony’s shoulder as his knot begins to swell at the base as he pistons inside of Tony. His orgasm lurches at him. 

It starts at the bottom of his feet and rises up inside of him like spring and then he’s made anew in the wash of sensations that splash over him like a waterfall. He’s never had a full-body orgasm before which, again, says a lot about how different things are with Tony.

He becomes lost to it, drowning as tidal wave after tidal wave beats down on him as his knot expands, catches, plugs, and ties them together. He’s crying again, he knows, full out gasps and sobs at how powerful his orgasm feels as he empties himself over and over inside of Tony. 

It’s like he’s being drained from the inside out, physically, emotionally, and he doesn’t know how long he drifts with it but when he comes to, Tony is kissing his knuckles gently over and over, whispering, “It’s okay, Steve. I got you. I’m here. It’s okay. God, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you so much. Don’t cry, it’s okay. I’m here.” 

Steve hiccups and realizes the vibrations he’d been feeling in his throat was his own voice hitching with sobs. He also notices how much he’s shaking, how tightly he’s holding Tony to him and feels a familiar surge of embarrassment and shame. God, he’s so pathetic.

“No, you’re perfect. You’re perfect,” Tony argues hoarsely, voice cracking slightly and Steve realizes he’s said that out loud and his face _burns_ at how unfiltered he’s become. “I love you, lamb. So fucking much. It’s okay. You’re beautiful like this. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for giving this to me.”

Steve sniffs and he hiccups silently with his damp forehead pressed to the side of Tony’s neck, breathing him in deeply and listening to his voice as he continues to repeat over and over all the words he’s been saying before. At the very core of him, Steve feels so very fucking exhausted, as he always is when he’s forced into giving up control. But the more Tony talks, the more he settles and calms, coming back to himself little by little.

When he feels up for it, he says, “I love you too.”

Tony perks up at that. “There you are,” he murmurs. “You were out of it for a while. I think your knot is coming down too.”

“Mm,” Steve merely replies, clutching Tony closer. “Y’keepin’ me honest.”

Tony huffs. “Yeah, well, better me than anyone else. How are we feeling?”

Steve smiles tiredly at the way he’s flipped it around. “I’m okay mostly on my own. But together we’re perfect.”

“Sap,” Tony snorts but his tone is warm and affectionate, his side of the bond is exploding in fireworks of sparkling piglet pinks and bell pepper reds. 

“M’being serious,” Steve grumbles but the smile on his face never falters. He shifts and pulls out of Tony as they both sigh at the separation. Then he's clutching Tony again because he always gets so clingy when he knots. He says, “I do want them, you know.”

“Want what?”

“Kids. I want kids. Particularly with you.”

Tony goes deathly quiet. Then he says, “Is this the knot still talking?”

Steve snorts and nips at Tony’s shoulder reproachfully as his Omega jerks under him with a wounded and outraged sound. “Don’t get cute, moonbeam. I’m pouring my heart out here. Knot can turn me into a blubbering baby but it doesn’t make me say what I don’t want to say.”

Tony says nothing to that, seeming to take the time to seriously mull over his next words. Then he says, “I want that too. With you.”

“Yeah? You wanna give me a full house?”

Tony scoffs. “Whoa, soldier. Let’s start at one and then go from there.”

“Oh no, don’t give me that. We both know you wanna give me many, many pretty babies with _tiny feet._ ”

“Wow. _Wow._ You know, my first instinct is to berate you, but lucky you, I’m better than that. I am - I have grown, I think, as a person, and I no longer need to default to name-calling and insults. It’s cool. It’s cool. It’s never been that deep anyway.” Tony waits three seconds before he pinches Steve’s arm. “Fuck it. I’m going for it. We agreed _never_ to bring that up, you jackass!”

“I didn’t agree to any such thing, I just said I understand you were making a threat.”

Tony mumbles something about Steve being a shyster and other such names.

Steve laughs and kisses Tony’s shoulder in apology. “Fine, we’ll start with one and go from there. When do you think you’d want to, you know, get that started?”

Tony clears his throat as he squirms. He’s speaking with cautious hope as he says, “Well, my current IUD is going to need to be replaced at the end of August. That closes up shop for another year.”

“I can work with that. What do you think?”

“I think we can have this talk again when the next year’s up to see where we’re at.” Tony pauses suddenly, as though he means to add more but decides to stop short. Then he says, “Are you still going to try and enlist?”

Steve hadn’t really thought about it, so caught up in the current drama of his life. He imagines what that would be like, what that would feel like if he did, and suddenly, the last thing he wants is to be separated from Tony, let alone their small family, should they start trying. But on the other side, joining the army had always been a long-time goal, something he’d always been invested in being apart of. 

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, deciding it’s better to be honest instead of vague. “There are more factors I have to consider now that I never had to before.”

“I’m sure,” Tony agrees. “If we’re really going to seriously consider starting a family together, I need to know if … I’d need you there with me, Steve. If we have a baby, I can’t do it by myself.”

“I know, and I agree. I wouldn’t want you to face that alone.” Steve sighs as he thinks things over. “Let me get back to you about the enlisting thing. I just need more time.”

“I get it. It’s fine. Take all the time, we’re in no rush. We’ve got a year and some change before we’d have to buckle down to figure everything out.”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms before a comfortable silence surrounds them. 

He falls asleep thinking about how much he hopes their future children inherit Tony’s soulful brown eyes, but also dreading it because he doesn’t want to give them such an easy advantage over him. 

Who is he kidding? They don’t even exist yet and Steve already wants to pluck the stars from the sky to make a crown he could place atop their heads.

Yeah. He doesn’t stand a chance.


	19. YEAR 1: PART III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - hey guys, quick announcement: the update schedule for this story has been changed to every other week for my peace of mind and to avoid burning out like i did last week, also i'm always in the market for feedback, encouraging or otherwise, help me out :) thanks

**1 MONTH AGO  
**

There had been some sort of billionaire's party in Upper Manhattan, which meant Howard had definitely socialized and was probably hungover. 

That’s really not ideal for the conversation Tony plans on having with him, yet here he is, taking the dreaded march to his father’s workshop, wringing his hands anxiously because if he didn’t, they’d be shaking instead.

He’d rehearsed what he wanted to say in the mirror for the past week, had given himself a pep talk over 20+ times the day of, but that does nothing for the mounting anxiety casting shadows of doubt in his mind, or the nervous galloping of his heart in his chest. 

But he had to do this. He had to say _something_ or he was going to spend the rest of his life bonded and bred by his horrible godfather, a man who believes in euthanizing the homeless, funds anti-Agency campaigns, and doesn't mind stepping on the little guy to make a quick buck. Bile nearly rises at the thought of being shackled to _that_ and it just confirms his need to fight against it.

Tony arrives, sooner than he would have liked, and stands on the other side of those glass walls, peering in as his father sits in his workspace like a bitter fish stuck in an expensive aquarium. He rings the buzzer and waits.

Howard glances up, aged face settled rigidly as if made of stone. There's a fresh pour of whiskey in the tumbler at his side. Great. So he's been drinking. “ _What is it, Anthony? Don’t you have some kind of brunch thing with Maria?”_

“She canceled,” Tony replies, feeling pinned under his father’s annoyed stare from where he’s staring sternly at Tony from his workstation but he makes no move to give Tony entrance. Typical. “I was wondering …”

Howard makes an unhappy sound that cuts Tony off, throwing back his whiskey and pouring another one before he goes back to working on a small device he has trapped between to pincers. He’s wearing his reading glasses - they sit on the edge of his nose while his eyes narrow in concentration. _“Don’t start with the mumbling, boy. You know I have no patience for it,”_ he reprimands absentmindedly via the intercom. _“You want something, you ask for it. Like a man.”_  

“I -” Tony falters, feeling his heart sink. Those words trigger memories of Howard's fists laying into him as he said those exact words. He's suddenly mortified, doubting himself, and frozen to the spot - traumatized. Then he remembers why he's here and he steels himself. “May I come in, sir? There’s something I would like to talk to you about.”

Howard just grunts, pressing a few buttons off to the side that makes the entrance hiss open. He waves Tony in with a curt gesture of his hand.  

Tony walks forward until he stands on the opposite side of his father’s workstation, posture perfect, shoulders straight, just like he's been taught, and only gets another irritated scowl for his efforts. “Thank you. Good morning. How was your party, sir?”

Howard, not pausing his work once, replies, “I’m not in the mood for small talk, boy. What do you have to say to me?” 

Tony hesitates again. Great. Nothing is going like he imagined. Surprise, surprise. He sighs and says, “Uncle Obie says that we’re to be married. I - is that true?”

“What concern of it is yours, I wonder,” Howard drawls rhetorically, hands moving expertly as he lays into the small device he’s engineering. “And if it _is_ true? Would you find it upsetting?” he challenges.

Tony squeezes his right hand into a fist, anger bubbling in his gut. He takes a breath to calm himself. He has to get through this with a level head. In and out. In and out. He says, “You ask that like you don’t already know, sir.”

“Maybe I don’t know. I’m a feeble old man now. So out of touch with the young crowd and all your little progressive 'forward-thinking' agendas. Omega Rights and all that. Silly aspirations of independence. That's what all those shit-for-brains protesters like to scream at me and mine, whether here or down in D.C.” Howard’s lips curl into this ugly little smirk meant solely for himself. He's amused over this whole thing. “Tell me, son. What cause do you have to refuse Obadiah of his generous offer? Let’s not pretend you aren’t difficult to handle.”

Tony feels the words cut into him like a knife, as they always do when Howard or Maria feel the need to verbally dress him down. “I can’t love him,” he argues weakly. “It would kill me.”

“Sentimental,” Howard remarks, flicking his gaze over the top of his glasses to Tony briefly before it dips down again so he can continue to tinker with his own project. “Marriage isn’t for love, boy. And it’s inane ideas like that which convince me asking for your input about the matter is a moot point.”

“Sir, please. Please don’t make me marry my godfather. He’s crooked. The worst kind of crooked. He won’t be kind to me at all!”

“Lower your voice, and watch your tongue. Do you think it's brave to talk about a man behind his back like this? Pitiful,” Howard calmly replies. “Save your efforts. The matter has already been decided. Your mother and I agree this is the best way to move forward. The future welfare of Stark Industries comes before all else.”

Tony slams his hands on the surface of his father’s workstation, making everything tremble.

Howard’s gaze snaps up to him with a cold fury. There’s no friendly emotion behind those brown eyes of his, no soul. “Careful,” he warns. “You’re in my territory, little O. I’ll stand for no disrespect.”

“I never ask you for anything!” Tony shouts, already at the threshold of his limit; his anger burns like acid - burning, slicing, potent. He's just an object to them, just something to trade - a means to an end. “I have brought honor and pride to the Stark name, became something you could brag about, could wave like chow to young, virile Alphas to seduce into contracts and mergers without actually letting them claim me, and never once objected as you and Obadiah pillaged and mined my genius like precious minerals. I have paid my dues to the stability of your industrial empire, and let you parade me around like some poster child for _Wunderkind Omegas_. And above all that, I have _never_ complained, never begged! But I’m begging now. I’ll bare my neck. Show my belly. Get on my knees. I’ll press my face into the ground. But please, please, _please_ do not make me give the rest of my life to someone who would use and abuse me both physically and mentally. He hates me and he’s always been jealous of you. He could never love me.”

“Love,” Howard scoffs before taking off his glasses to stare Tony down all the more with animosity. “Love is a poor man’s distraction. Love is for street rats, for the lesser civilized. Use the brains I gifted you with, Anthony."

Tony holds his gaze rebelliously. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't," he replies.

Howard shakes his head and gives Tony a look of pity that's not genuine in the least. "You’ve been sheltered from the evils of the world all your life. You should thank me for that. I have seen things out there that you wouldn’t believe, though if you had, you would certainly put this notion of _love_ behind you. But ... that's the trouble with you and your generation, isn't it? You're all so naive. You don’t care much for hard facts. No. No one wants to take responsibility. You all want to be spoilt for choices, and to act as if the reality of what you are is inconsequential to the order of the food chain. But I say, so what? So what if you're unhappy with your lot in life? You’re an Omega, boy. You've had nature explained to you, you've had the living body explained to you, you've had the universe explained to you, and you know where your place is in the midst of it all? Wherever the fuck I want it to be. So spare me the dramatics." He puts his glasses back on to return to his tinkering, dismissive of Tony once more. "You want to get on your knees and degrade yourself for cheap thrills? That's all love is. And you know what? I don’t blame myself. It’s nothing you would have learned from me, or your mother. So you know what that means? That means Jarvis has been putting ideas in your head.”

Tony tries to protest, suddenly terrified that he’s contributing to some sort of future punishment for Jarvis. “That’s not true - I - don’t really even have deep conversations like this with the - the help.” It makes him sick to have to refer to Jarvis as such. He pushes on, “Dad, if you ever loved me, even just a little, please, don’t make me do this.”

Howard goes on working for a long time like he's not going to even dignify that with a response. When he's satisfied with his progress, he finally looks up and pins Tony with a blank stare until Tony fidgets under that unflinching gaze. Then he says, “So that’s it then. You want love. Is that what you’re saying? You want love, Anthony? From me? From your future Alpha? And for what? What do I owe to you to give it? What does any of us owe you? You want to talk about what is due, let’s focus on the checks and balances here, boy. The life you have? I gave that to you. The clothes you're wearing? I gave that to you. Stark Tower? I built that for you and your mother. Not for love, but for the responsibility of being your parent, of being a husband. It’s money and good business that keeps your belly full, that funds all that education you went through, all the junk you keep in your workshop, which I gave you, lest we forget. Love had nothing to do with it. I know my place, you little shit. I know who I am. So now I ask you, what more do you think I owe you before you realize that nothing is free? _Love._ Love, he says. Such a piteous desire. The fact of the matter, Anthony, is that _you_ owe _me._  So if I say I want you to marry Obadiah, you’ll do it and be grateful. Hell, if I say I want to marry you to a man-eating mountain lion, you'll do it and you'll lick the bottom of my boots in appreciation. You know why that is? You belong to me before you belong to anyone else, to do as _I_ please. The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be. Otherwise, you can surrender the Stark name and see how far love gets you out in that great big world of ours. Do I make myself clear?”

Tony’s trembling, angrier than he’s ever been. “Perfectly, sir,” he mutters.

“Ah, there’s that tone again,” Howard warns without looking up when he goes back to his project. “Son, we live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. You don't want to accept the truth of your circumstances because deep down in places you don't talk about, you understand there's nothing you can do but to lie down and take it. So don't be melodramatic. You're just a mere pup who has never bloomed fully into a bitch. Obadiah is a good fit for you. What he has to offer - wealth, property, heirs - is more than what your lot get. Stubborn. Stubborn and naive. You should be so lucky if Obadiah takes it upon himself to cure you of it.”

Tony swallows his anger like a fire-seed, wishing it would grow in his belly until it came out as hot as any dragon has ever flamed - a fire that would turn Howard into nothing but a pile of ash. In a way, that hot burning anger sets him free, sizzles out the fear of consequences he usually frets over. 

“One way or another, you will marry as is intended and you won’t bother me again with such nonsense unless you want to be stripped the Stark name,” Howard warns, still not sparing Tony a single glance. “Get out.”

Tony leaves without another word, fists clenched at his sides, jaw set while heat builds behind his eyes. He cries in the privacy of his suite before he pulls himself together, and in a fit of rebellion, dresses down into his casuals and pulls up the public transit schedules to map his way to Brooklyn.

If he was going to be condemned to a life of happiness, he sure as hell was going to cross off one thing from his bucket list. He's not too worried since sneaking out to see a movie was pretty tame, and his parents would never have to know.

Honestly - what’s the craziest thing that could happen?

.

.

.

**PRESENT DAY**

Steve has a scar the shape of a squiggly line like a badly shaped lightning bolt on his knee. 

Tony can’t stop thinking about it as he lies awake beside said Alpha, who’d fallen asleep some time ago after their surprisingly candid discussion about starting a family together and Steve’s hopefully dwindling interest in enlisting. 

Tony is still too keyed up to really drift with him, still amazed that Steve had given him exactly what he’d wanted, his Omega hindbrain purring smugly at being properly bred, no matter that nothing will technically come of it because of Tony’s little contraceptive. It’d be an honest to god unintentional miracle if Tony somehow wound up pregnant after this. It’s a strangely scary but thrilling thought that he’s not even sure he can blame on his Heat. 

Still, in order to avoid really daydreaming about what it’d feel like to be heavy with Steve’s kids like he’d done all day practically, he pulls up the thought of the squiggly scar on Steve’s left knee at random. 

He had first noticed it when Steve had talked him into sitting on his face, and then again when he’d done a little negotiating while putting his horseback riding lessons to good use finally. God, okay, wait, he’s got to stop thinking about this for a moment because his face is on fire just remembering all the things they’ve done in the last 24 hours, both sexual and not. 

He’d been more crude and shameless than he usually was, during a Heat that had, itself, been the mildest it had ever been.

Tony doesn’t let himself dwell on the instinctual/age-old shame or embarrassment, but instead on what came from the intimacy - the way they bared their souls to each other last night - honest wants, truths, desires, and even unspoken fears. Tony has never felt so close or connected to another person in his entire life (outside of Jarvis). 

God, and that’s another thing. He misses Jarvis so much, and he’s been trying his hardest to think of the man _as little as possible_ to avoid the agony of moping after his oldest, and dearest - dare he even say it - _family_. He gets so sad when he thinks about how long it’s been since he’d seen the older Omega, since they’ve talked, since he's smelled the comforting warm citrus scents Jarvis had always exuded whenever they where in close proximity.  

What Tony misses the most is the whimsical but proud look in Jarvis’s brown eyes whenever he set his sights on Tony, leaving the younger Omega feeling wanted, feeling seen, feeling loved. They never talked about their affection for each other, they couldn’t since that sort of thing, that sort of softness wasn’t allowed in the Stark household. Plus, for whatever reason, Maria absolutely hated when Tony acknowledged Jarvis at all in ways other than just treating the older Omega like a dutiful employee.

Tony never understood her jealousy, the barely concealed look of burning fury in Maria's green eyes those times she’d caught them being more than cordial. He still vaguely remembers the tense, whispered arguments Maria and Jarvis would have after Maria would banish Tony to his room to have a ‘quick word’ with Jarvis when Tony was much younger. 

Though the memories come in fragments, he still recalls strange phrases like, _“He’s not yours, you bitch.”_ or _“Stop this nonsense or you’ll complicate everything.”_ or even _“Tony isn’t showing me respect. Is that what you want? Should I have Howard send you away like he wanted when Tony was born? You know, I’m the one who convinced him not to. You will stop engaging **my son**  like this or I’ll send you somewhere you’ll never see him again.”_ and so on and so forth.

Tony gets shaky even now just thinking about Maria’s poisonous, threatening words, though he still doesn’t understand why she’d want to go to such lengths. She never pretended to care about him, never saw him more as an object to mold and dress up to her liking the same way Howard did when they wanted to show him off. God, he misses Jarvis and those stolen moments of alone time when Jarvis made it his mission to spoil and dote on Tony for as long as their secrecy could afford them.

He finds himself smiling up at the ceiling when he remembers how loud and thunderous Jarvis’s shouting had been when he’d come home to find Tony suffering his first Heat alone. He’d nearly slapped both of his parents for their reckless endangerment, he’d even hinted at going to the police and the press but Howard had said something about his contract and an NDA clause and the fight seemed to have zapped right out of Jarvis. He’d still muttered his complaints as he nursed Tony back to health, insisting that it had to be him or Tony might perish. Strangely enough, his parents hadn’t argued about that one. Tony figures they just hadn’t wanted to be bothered with looking after him, they never really did.

Tony sighs as his smile slips into nothing while his thoughts take a dark turn. It makes his stomach lurch unpleasantly and he decides to push it deep down, putting a lid on it before twisting around to face his slumbering husband. His face gets a little hot when he feels some of Steve’s cum squelch out and slide down his thighs. He ignores that too and swings his gaze over every detail of Steve’s facial features. He’s so beautiful. It truly baffles Tony that Steve’s been single for this long, let alone unmarried.

 _That’s because he was meant for you,_ Tony thinks possessively before he can even help it. He can’t even seem to stop himself from reaching out to thoroughly scent mark his husband as a virtual ‘ _fuck you and fuck off cause this one’s mine_ ’ to the rest of the world.

Steve barely stirs at all but Tony’s not surprised. He’d cried harder than Tony had ever seen. Tony understands firsthand now what Steve meant about how overwhelmingly sensitive he got when he knots. It would explain why Steve went years without doing it, avoiding his previous partners' request for it. Another thing his stupid Omega hindbrain purrs smugly over, and yeah, okay he has to admit that he likes that he managed to not only marry such a great fucking catch of an Alpha when others have surely tried and failed, but also because he’d gotten Steve to love him, to desire him, to cherish him enough to _want_ to knot him.

“Mm, c’mon, Tony, stop squirmin’, wouldja?” Steve complains tiredly, voice raspy with sleep, but he’s smiling crookedly before he drops right back off to sleep.

Tony squirms closer, unable to resist the urge to curl around his Alpha possessively, scent-marking him to hell, knowing Steve is probably going to stink of him for days. He can’t find it in him to really care about that at the moment and just rides the last waves of his Heat, drifting off in the love of his life’s arms, feeling like the luckiest Omega in the world.

He knows, in his heart of hearts, that he will always fight to keep this.

Come what may.   

.

.

.

Tony dreams that he’s barefoot and pregnant, standing on the porch of a cabin sitting on a lake, looking out across the way where Steve is tossing down chicken-feed to their little flock of chickens. 

There’s a kid on Steve’s shoulder, looking about between the ages of six or seven. 

A little girl with strawberry blonde hair (a lighter shade than Sarah’s) and a charming amount of freckles dusted over the bridge of her nose and forehead. She has Tony’s eyes but Steve’s jaw and nose.

She’s the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen, and when she looks at Tony, when she _looks_ at him … she smiles with all of her teeth, gaps and all, face bursting with love and devotion and happiness before she screws her eyes together while sticking her tongue out playfully. Then Steve is looking up too with the same expression of delight their daughter wore a second ago before he glances up at the little girl, laughing fondly before he too fixes his face in that goofy expression, mirroring her as he sets her to her feet so they can both playfully stalk towards Tony with their hands up in mimed bear claws.

Tony wakes with tears in his eyes and a deep yearning he’s never felt before. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is, even as he reaches down between him and Steve to rest a shaky hand against his own stomach. 

Yup, still flat. Definitely a dream.

Tony sighs, though whether in relief or disappointment, he couldn’t quite say.   

He’s not sure what time it is. It looks pretty sunny outside. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to go back to sleep again if he tried. His mind is as sharp and alert as ever - the dreamlike haze of his Heat has completely passed. His body feels sticky and sore, exhausted somewhat, but he ignores it as he pries himself from Steve and heads to the bathroom on unsteady legs. 

He quietly rummages around for a moment, taking a few minutes to bemoan the fact that he has a zit sitting on his forehead like a bull’s eye. He slathers on a face mask the color of seaweed before he tiptoes his way to the living room to locate his tablet so he can take it back with him. He closes the bathroom door with a soft click when he returns to it, drawing himself a steamy bath with lots of bubbles before taking some time to check on Mercury and Drew while he brushes his teeth. 

By the time he’s climbing into the tub, mountains of bubbles everywhere, the last of his bodily exhaustion is peeling away. The water is hot enough that it makes Tony a bit lightheaded but he ignores it and focuses on reviewing the last details of his nano-bugs. He must spend an hour on that before he realizes the water is starting to get cold and that his face mask has hardened completely. He has to set the tablet aside so he can give himself the proper scrub down before climbing out and tying on a bathrobe while he drains the tub completely. He opts to let the air dry his hair before he snaps up his tablet and tiptoes around the room for something to wear. He elects a pair of light washed jeans, a faded graphic tee of one of his favorite punk bands, and one of Steve’s unreasonably soft cardigans. Seriously, he’s going to have to start asking Steve where he’s buying these from because he’s tempted to just steal all of his like all the time now.

After making sure Steve is properly tucked in, he quietly wanders out into the living room to sit on the floor with the nest of pillows they left there so he can boot up his computer. He checks his phone for any missed messages or alerts of interest from the news. The group chat doesn’t show any recent messages, and most of his news notifications have to do with Queenpin officially confirming her stake in the upcoming mayoral elections, recent Spider-Man sightings, a viral clip from _Red Table Talk_ with Dr. Jane Foster is trending where she is urging people to pay special attention to the fact that the government is sending American troops everywhere in the world _except_ Hydra locations, and a few articles about Hydra activity overseas.

He pulls up the schematics for his nano-bugs on his computer while he uses his tablet to pull up a holographic display of the viral clip that seems to be having the internet abuzz. While the video is loading behind an annoying five minute ad he can’t skip, he drops _‘found anything yet?’_ in the group chat with Miles and Gwen before scanning the articles about Hydra, brow furrowing when most of the reports are about how Hydra is deporting Omegas (covered in these strange purple welts) from each conquered country, sending them to America on planes and boats. It also seems that the President is partnering with the CDC to keep the Omegas confined to Containment Centers run by the NCEZID based in New Mexico, believing the infected refugees to be a biological threat to national security - some sort of trap or plot by Hydra since theses Omegas haven’t been sent to any other continent. 

The _Red Table Talk_ clip finally loads and just displays an error message stating that the video has been removed due to violating YouTube’s policies. Curious.

Tony doesn’t think it’s a big deal at first. He just browses for the next clip he can find. But it happens again. Over and over. That only piques his interests even more, so he decides to scour the entire internet for the clip but there’s not a trace - not even from the original source. If that’s not suspicious … well, Tony figures there’s always the dark web. You could found anything lost to the public internet there since the dark web had its own set of rules and intricacies. 

Tony doesn’t really get a chance to utilize that resource because there’s movement off to the side that catches his eye. He glances up and freezes when he notices that the potted plant he’d shot with the plasma gun has turned a sickly darkish gray with all sorts of fissures and cracks running up and down the length of it. He stands to slowly approach it before dropping to his knees to scan it thoroughly until he feels brave enough to reach out and graze his fingers over one of the leaves.

It immediately begins to crumble, turning into ash before dropping into a pile of dust in the tan ceramic pot that was housing it.

Tony’s fingers are shaking slightly from where it’s still poised when he reached out to touch the lifeless plant. God … to think. This could’ve been his foot if Steve hadn’t intervened. Or worse.

Tony shudders to imagine it before he climbs to his feet to locate some tupperware so he can gather some of the dust for later testing. When he finds one and gets as much as he thinks he needs, he seals it for proper incubation and backtracks to the room to stuff it into his luggage hidden away in the walk-in closet. By the time he exits, his mind is already swirling with the infinite possibilities of what makes the plasma gun tick, it’s purpose, and how much more dangerous it is than he originally assumed.

He gives a passing glance to Steve, who is still in a deep REM cycle, and tries not to feel guilty when he goes searching for the plasma gun without running it past his Alpha. He finds it on the mantle on the fireplace. He doesn’t touch it. He stares at it and stares at it while his fingers twitch at his sides with the desire to take it apart, to figure it out, to see what makes it tick, to unveil its secrets. 

 _How mad would Steve be?_ Tony thinks as he eyes the plasma gun, fidgeting anxiously. _He’d understand. He would. I’d be more careful this time._

Wasn’t it better to ask forgiveness than permission anyway?

Tony nods to himself and moves to grab it but then there’s suddenly a sharp knock at the door, startling him into yanking his hand back as his heart races. Then he rolls his eyes at himself before he relaxes with a sigh.

Thinking it must be one of the housekeepers coming to offer some turndown service, Tony treks to the door and opens it to … nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing.

Tony’s brow furrows at the cantaloupe-sized robotic black spider perched on a folded piece of paper. He crouches down and grabs the paper first before touching the mechanical spider. 

The note reads:

~~_Dad_ ~~ _  
_ _Hey,_

_You wanted proof - so here’s your proof. Trusting you to keep Little Ben safe until we_ ~~_see each other_~~ _“meet” again.  
He_ _’ ~~s not much of a talker~~ _ _doesn’t have vocal capabilities but he's got ‘spider senses’, so he understands things in  
his own way. He can sing too and he’s really good at assisting on projects. Also, he’s kinda shy and super sensitive   
so try not to refer to him as a bug - he hates that. I know you’ll understand the color codes. _ ~~_It’s one of yours._~~ _You’ll_  
just know how to interpret them on your own. 

~~_Peter_ ~~

_PBR_

Tony’s eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline at the strangely cryptic note, the parts scribbled out are hard to read but he figures there's a reason for that. He steps out of the house to glance around but there’s not a soul in sight. Then he turns back to the robotic spider, eyeing it and, against his better judgment, picks it up with both hands to bring it to easier eye level.

It’s really a beautiful creature, nearly all-black chrome, sleek with bends and turns that show it was designed by an expert. He continues glancing over all the details and interlocked mechanisms while he returns to the inside of the guest house, closing the door behind him in absentminded distraction.

It’s just that the more he looks at the mechanical spider, the more he realizes how advanced the craftsmanship is. Not to mention the premium quality and condition of it makes it hard for Tony to pinpoint just when it might have been manufactured. He flips it over to look for a hatch and maybe even a company logo. He only finds a red and gold plated ‘A’ stamped on the belly of the spider. 

Tony traces his fingers over it and finds himself becoming envious over the design, wishing he would’ve thought to label some of his inventions with something of the same. The red and gold plated 'A' has a subtle sort of gaudiness, of pride and ownership, that Tony would have himself veered toward had he thought of it. He’d been struggling to pick a logo he could patent for himself to mark his toy inventions because while he wanted his work out there, he also wanted to focus on being locally sourced for the first couple of years before branching out once he finally opens his toy store. He needed something understated, and stamping them with an 'A' would have been perfect - again, had he thought of it first.

Suddenly he’s thinking of his Agency letter and it’s like the winds have been taken from his sails. A bitter anguish washes over him, triggering heat behind his eyes, and no matter how many times he swallows, nothing makes the swell of anger and sorrow go away.

The mechanical spider twitches in his hands, making Tony yelp as it rights itself in his hands, staring up at him with eight eyes lit with white. Tony stands stock still, waiting to see what it will do.

It just chirps curiously at him while reaching out one front leg to touch his wet cheek while its abdomen vibrates with a bubbly and joyful whistling song.

Tony nearly laughs when he realizes that it’s trying to cheer him up. “So you can sense emotions,” he remarks.

Little Ben’s eight eyes flash pink while he makes a happy chirp noise but doesn’t stop singing or petting him.

Tony smiles with another watery laugh. “You’re sweet. I’m fine now. Thank you.”

Little Ben chirps in satisfaction before climbing up his arm to rest on his shoulder. 

“And you can understand and respond to verbal language,” Tony notes rhetorically, finding the mechanical spider more and more fascinating. It kind of reminds him of the Brite Pet he built for Sharon but he tosses that thought away, thinking how foolish it would be to try and make that comparison. Especially when it springs up some impossible questions that have no place being asked. “Right, so who made you? Let’s see what we can find.”

Tony’s not sure how long he spends scouring the internet for the initials on the note and the logo resting on the bottom of Little Ben’s abdomen before his phone vibrates on the coffee table.

It’s a reply to what he put in the group chat from Gwen that reads: _We’ve got nothing yet but no worries, early days yet. Keep you posted soon. :)_

Tony replies with something encouraging and grateful while Little Ben peers down at the screen of his phone with him, making curious chirping noises from where he’s switched to Tony’s left shoulder. 

Tony laughs and says, “Don’t tell me you can read. Now I’m really impressed and even more curious. Though you shouldn’t eavesdrop on other people’s texts. That’s rude.”

Little Ben just chirps as his eight eyes turn a playful shade of orange.

Tony huffs and files that color away along with the others. So far, in the two hours they've become acquainted, he’s decoded four different types: pink for happy, blue for sad, white for confusion, and now orange for playful. 

He sighs and gives up his search for now, figuring he’ll get back to it when he’s located FRIDAY. Speaking of - he pulls his laptop closer to where he’s sitting in the nest of pillows beside the coffee table with his legs folded like a pretzel under him. He wirelessly connects his computer to his tablet in order to pull up the schematics of his nano-bugs, triggering the holographic display. He sets the tablet on the floor by his knees and concentrates on finding a way to finish the rest of the sequence code.

Little Ben climbs off of his shoulder to crawl around Tony’s tablet with curious chirping noises while his eight eyes sparkle white.

Tony pauses his work to watch the way Little Ben uses his front two legs to shift the holographic display around with expert care and attention, his movements fluid and keen in a way Tony finds absolutely fascinating.

“What are you thinking?” Tony asks.

Little Ben ignores him for several moments as he continues to play around with the hologram before nodding to himself as his eight eyes glow with a pretty shade of purple. Then he’s crawling onto Tony’s lap, gently pushing Tony’s hands away so he can gain full access to his keyboard.

Tony watches, stunned, as Little Ben utilizes all his legs to rework and reframe the sequence code for the nano-bugs. Tony catches what he can about the data, Little Ben is moving just that fast, and realizes that the mechanical spider is helping him _fix_ all his errors and typos. 

“Holy shit,” Tony breathes. “You’re - you can - holy shit. _Who_ the fuck _made_ you?”

Little Ben ignores him, focusing solely on the task at hand. By the look of things, he’s committing himself to job of finishing Tony’s sequence code, which would have taken Tony 48 hours to complete and finalize. But for the pace that Little Ben is moving, it looks like the intelligent creature might accomplish it in under twelve hours.

“What’s that?”

Tony jumps, startled by the sound of another voice, almost upsetting his laptop in the process.

Little Ben bristles, eight eyes turning red as he chirps unhappily at Tony.

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I’m sorry. Not really my fault - _hey!_ ” 

Little Ben grabs Tony’s laptop and steals it away to web himself up in a nearby corner to continue to work undisturbed.

“Drama queen,” Tony mutters, more amused than annoyed as he stares up at where Little Ben is perched above the patio doors. He doesn't bother standing himself, and just turns to look up at Steve, who is hovering over him dressed in a pair of chinos and one of Tony's MIT sweatshirts. He looks good, clean, and awake. “Good morning. Or -” He grabs his phone to look at the time. “Good afternoon it looks like. How’d you sleep?”

“Just fine, thanks for asking,” Steve replies with exasperated amusement while he eyes what Tony's wearing and he definitely notices that Tony's got on one of his cardigans because his look goes a little intense and distracted for a moment. Then he shakes it off, pointing up towards Little Ben and says, “Tony, what is that thing? Did you make that?”

“I wish. He’s pretty cool,” Tony admits, tucking his hands away in the pockets of Steve's soft cardigan to grope around for the note left with Little Ben. “His name is Little Ben by the way. And I found him outside the door with this note.”

Steve takes the note when Tony passes it to him. He looks confused by what he’s read. 

Tony shrugs when that confused gaze lands his way. “I’ve got no idea either. I thought it might be a prank or something. But now … I don’t think that’s it. I couldn’t find anything about the little guy on the world wide web or where he might have come from. But I don’t think he’s harmful.”

“What makes you so sure?” Steve asks as he glances towards Little Ben, who is singing pleasantly to himself as he works. Steve’s lips twitch a little like he’s trying to remain cautious and serious, but it’s clear he’s having a hard time with that.

“I gave him an optical pat-down. He’s not armed with anything that could even remotely cause harm or serious injury. Actually, he’s uniquely kid-friendly. He’s got the makings of very child-specific interfacing. I don’t think he’d damage a thread of hair on a newborn’s head, to be honest.”

“So it’s a toy?” Steve supposes as he continues to keep an eye on Little Ben. “Seems a bit advanced for a baby.”

“Yeah, maybe, but he’s got a high emotional intelligence and comprehension that I think makes him an excellent cradle soother.”

“Cradle soother?” Steve finally looks at him then. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, well.” Tony takes a moment to think about how he wants to explain it as he folds his knees more towards his chest. “There are different types of toys, naturally. But they have their own categories when it comes to age-specific demographics. It’s called Piaget's Stages of Development. I used to research that type of stuff, you know, so I could have the best idea on how to set up my store or market my products, as well as what type of juvenile audiences I wanted to target. There’s a spectrum, for safety’s sake, of where certain toys and gadgets land that helps determine which ages are suitable for use. Little Ben fits the profile for the whole scale if you can believe it. I tested him.”

Steve huffs tweaks the top of his own ear thoughtfully. “Of course you did. So, what? You’re keeping him?”

Tony shrugs. “I wouldn’t if you didn’t want me to, but I’m really curious about his inventor. I think I could figure it out in time. For all I know, it could be some recluse suffering from memory loss or something and got confused. Oh _shit_.” He realizes something. “Has Riley’s family always owned this mansion?”

“Couldn’t say,” Steve says honestly with a thoughtful frown. “Why, what are you thinking?”

“If our mystery inventor is having an episode and left Little Ben here … well, what if this property is familiar to them somehow?”

Steve seems to catch on to what he’s saying. “You think whoever left that -” he points to Little Ben. “- must have lived here before?”

“Possibly,” Tony says, fingers already fluttering over the screen of his phone to pose the question to Riley via text. “Only one way to find out. Let’s see what Riley says.”

“Sure. Keep him if you really think he's as harmless as you say.” Steve glances one final time to Little Ben before he focuses all his attention on Tony. “What about you? How did you sleep? Have you eaten?”

“Slept fine. And I, uh, forgot to eat?” Tony, when it looks like Steve is about to lecture him, hastens to add, “I was distracted! I mean, I think I felt some sensations earlier that might be considered hunger, but I kinda ignored it when I was trying to figure out where Little Ben came from and other such roadblocks. Don’t be grumpy with me.”

“I’m almost never grumpy with you, that’s the problem.”

Tony laughs and Steve chuckles a little too. He stands and reels Steve in by the front of his sweatshirt to kiss him gently on the mouth. Then he pulls back and says, “You’ve got any plans today?”

Steve is watching his mouth move in a way that makes Tony’s face heat up and butterflies dance in his stomach. “Not that I know of. I’d cancel them for you if I did anyhow,” he replies candidly.

Tony’s blush blossoms into a deeper one. “You’re so cheesy,” he complains, playfully pushing Steve away. 

Steve huffs as he stares at him, his side of the bond sparkling in vivid colors of darkened strawberry wine. He says, even when his own cheeks color with the words, “I wish I could knot you again.”

Tony nearly chokes on his own spit. He can’t say he expected Steve to just come out and say that so boldly. “You’re certainly more comfortable with yourself, aren’t you?” he remarks in exasperation as his face goes prickly with heat. “I’m guessing last night wasn’t so bad after all?”

“You’d guess right, but you always make things better. Can’t say I find it surprising,” Steve smiles just for him. “You’re perfect.”

“Shut up. I’m not.”

“Maybe. But you’re perfect for me, and I love you.”

Tony can’t hide the way his breath hitches every time he hears Steve say it to him. He’ll never be used to it - he’ll never want to be. “We’re connected,” he finally manages to say in a wobbly voice. “I already told you.”

“Soul mates,” Steve agrees with a whimsical tone.

“Yeah,” Tony replies in a tight voice, and if Steve makes him cry at one o’clock in the afternoon on a Friday, he’s gonna be so mad. He clears his throat. “Probably multiple realities out there where we always end up together.”

“Think so?” Steve’s face softens like he’s imagining it. “Nice idea.”

“Very.” Tony fidgets shyly. “Can we deal with the plasma gun now?”

Steve reaches out to cup the side of Tony’s jaw with a large hand, sweeping his thumb over the soft dip of Tony’s bottom lip with a thoughtful hum.

Tony feels that noise all the way down in the pits of his stomach, and maybe even lower than that. It still baffles him how such a simple touch from his husband can set his nerves on fire and make him all too aware of Steve. He doesn’t exactly get wet but it’s a close thing.

“Yeah,” Steve finally says, voice low and intimate. His ocean blue eyes are drinking in the details of Tony’s pinkened face like he’s committing it to memory. The gaze is ravenous, predatory almost. “Yeah, we can take it apart. But only if you promise that you’ll let me take _you_ apart later tonight.”

“Okay,” Tony breathes and yup, there’s that familiar glide of slick trying to paint paths down the inside of his thighs. “I - yes, Alpha. Anything you want, sir.”

Steve rumbles in approval, mouth shifting into that damn half-grin that always drives Tony nuts. “Good. Go get the gun and order us some food. I’ll make space on the dining table and grab my sketching tools and your tools as well.”

Tony nods wordlessly, sighing when Steve ducks in to kiss him again with powerful strokes of his tongue like he's rewarding Tony for merely existing. Then Tony’s left bereft in the next moment as Steve pulls away suddenly to do exactly what he said he would. 

Tony needs a moment to gather himself, to push the tide of wanton heat back in its place before he wanders off to grab the plasma gun (carefully) and order them a nice brunch spread via one of the house’s intercoms.

By the time he returns to the dining room table with the plasma gun, Steve has everything set up. 

They sit side by side, no, well, it’s more like Steve sits while Tony paces the floor behind him while the Alpha sketches the plasma gun as is.

“Remind me again why you have to draw it before we take it apart?”

Steve grins absentmindedly, pencil never pausing once as he responds, “A good 'before and after' never hurts to have. Plus, this way we can be sure that when you string it all together again, everything is really where it’s supposed to be.”

Tony knows he makes a valid point but that doesn’t make him any less anxious for it. He doesn’t have much to keep him preoccupied at the moment, what with Steve monopolizing the plasma gun for his artistry and Little Ben monopolizing his laptop to align and construct the sequence code for his nano-bugs.

When brunch is delivered sometime later, that provides a good distraction for a while, and gives Tony a chance to discuss the trending and hot news topics of the world with Steve about Hydra's current antics and the situation with the Omega refugees. A part of him feels like he’s only fueling the fire to Steve’s long-standing desire to enlist but it’s a subject Tony wisely avoids because he has already assured Steve that he's fine with giving the older man time to decide over it.

In the end, Tony sits back and watches Steve clear the table, praying silently to some deity in the universe that his Alpha will change his mind about a military career path. 

When everything is sorted, they go back to where they were before: Steve sketching and Tony pacing behind him as he rides it out, Little Ben a working, silent spectator from his corner.

“Okay ...” Steve drawls out as he puts the last finishing touches on his very detailed drawing. “... and done. It’s all yours now.”

“Thank _god,_ I was about to crawl out of my skin,” Tony groans he scrambles to the table with anxious enthusiasm Steve laughs at him for. “Shut up. Remind me to be mad at you later about that.”

Steve just laughs harder. 

For the next three hours, Tony stands slightly hunched over a hands-free magnifying glass, fingers carefully taking the gun apart piece by piece while he verbalizes it.

Steve stands nearby to draw every detail until Tony has all thirty-eight parts spread across the expanse of the dining table.

The last piece - the heart of the gun, the source of power, the thing that makes it tick - turns out to be a glowing yellow space stone.

A _glowing_ yellow _space stone._

What. The. Hell.

“What the hell?” Tony whispers because it needs to be said out loud. He carefully prods at the rock with the end of his screwdriver. “I mean … seriously. What in the H-E-Double fuck is this?”

Steve chokes on an incredulous laugh. “I - I really don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to say that.”

Tony shoots him an exasperated look. “Your priorities right now are god awful. Focus up, Cap. Thoughts on the freaky sparkly space rock?”

“I hope that’s not the official scientific term for it.”

“Why are you the most ridiculous person on the planet?”

“Tony, relax.” Steve goes on to say, “You haven’t even met everyone on the planet.”

“I am going to tackle you. Do you understand, Steve? I am going to literally slam my body into yours if you don’t answer the question. Don’t make me do that okay? I don’t want to have to do that.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve laughs. “I’m - I think this is a shock. I can’t really deal. Just last month my toughest problem was my stupid creaky pipes. I complained to my Ma about how boring my life was, Tony, and she said I was tempting fate. Christ, she was right. I mean, Christ, Tony. That’s a sparkly _space rock_.”

Tony throws his hands out widely in agreement, exclaiming, “It baffles me that this was in the hands of seedy creeps wearing clown masks. Half of them probably hadn’t even graduated high school and they just - just! That’s -” He stops abruptly, suddenly furious. “I need some air.”

Steve doesn’t try and stop him as he storms out the patio doors to step on the deck and lean against the railing to brood at the beach.

Tony stews at the setting sun, glaring while the world dared to be so beautiful at such an awful time. 

Steve joins him, and they both stare out past the beach and across the sea to the sun sinking down the horizon, both of them lost to a whirlwind of thoughts while comfortable silence reigns supreme between them. 

After a while, Tony breaks it by saying, “What do you think happens when we die?”

Steve turns his gaze and gives him a measuring look as Tony tries not to squirm. Then he says, “Ma raised me in the Catholic faith. Faith says there’s an Afterlife, an, ah, paradise I guess, for the good ones. Fire, brimstone, and demons for the bad ones. Can’t say for sure if it’s true or not but I’d like to think there’s something that comes after all of this. Kinda makes the inevitable an easier pill to swallow, you know? Threat of fire and brimstone withstanding.”

Tony’s intrigued by the concept, but only because it sounds so medieval.

“What about you?”

“Not certain. We never talked religion in the Stark household,” Tony admits with a sigh as he continues to gaze across the water. “But … sometimes I’d like to think that we become stardust. That … the very essence of ourselves: the sentiment and the soul … it just … it stretches itself out among the galaxy to be the dust that orbits the stars, and the moons. Or the rings of Saturn. I mean, I know it’s not even remotely logical on a scientific scale but, I don’t know, I’d like to imagine things turn out that way.”

“If you find it comforting, I don’t think you should be ashamed,” Steve encourages like a promise and, yeah, when Tony looks at him, he appears as sincere and genuine as he sounds. “And if anyone tries to make fun of you for it, point them out and I’ll knock them sideways. No one disrespects my Omega.”

“Aw, lamb,” Tony teases with a laugh and smirks when it gets Steve to look at him flatly. “You really would, wouldn’t you? God, you are something else.” 

“Yeah, but I’m your bit of something else,” Steve grins as he tugs him closer. He’s rubbing their noses together. “Maybe we oughta do something normal to offset how weird our lives have gotten. Speaking of, how’s the bike?”

Tony smiles slowly and shakes his head. “It still needs a few tweaks but it should be good to go in an hour or two. Why? You wanna take me somewhere, sir?”

Steve’s eyes dilate as they shift almost imperceptibly across every single detail of Tony’s mouth and there are almost a thousand indecent thoughts that flit across his face making Tony almost breathless at the sight of it. But in the end, all he does is grab Tony’s hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze that seems purposeless at first. But then Steve’s fingers are fluttering down Tony’s inner palm to trace the groves and spaces between Tony’s finger.

Then the Alpha just starts groping the diameter of his ring finger for the next five minutes with this dreamy look of concentration on his face.

As much as Tony is enjoying the physical attention, he has to intervene if they want to get out of here at a decent time. “Hey, Rogers. What’s so interesting about my hand? What are you doing? Why yes, I do have skin and bones just like you. Amazing, right?”

Steve startles a bit like he’s coming to his senses and he shoots Tony a warm but secretive look. “S’nothing, honey. Just - was thinking about something, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.” Tony eyes him suspiciously. “So I’m gonna go ahead and fix the bike so we can be late to wherever we’re going because we will probably argue for fifteen minutes straight about me wearing a helmet. Spoiler alert: I really don’t want to.”

Steve simply grins fondly at him for a moment before he brings Tony’s hand up to pretend to gnaw on his knuckles.

Tony barks out a surprised laugh at the unexpected affectionate gesture, trying to yank his hand free while also trying to bat Steve away. “C’mon - _ah!_ Stop _\- ha!_ You are such a _heathen!_ ”

Steve chuckles, ducking back before one of Tony’s light swats can land. Then he’s swooping back in to plant a firm kiss on Tony’s lips once the Omega is calm enough for it like the little sneak he is.

Tony gasps, giving Steve the chance to sneak in a little tongue before he separates them suddenly, leaving Tony in a lurch and staring after Steve dazedly as the Alpha retreats inside the guest house. “Mean,” he mutters to himself, pressing shaky fingers to his kiss swollen mouth. “Absolute monster.”

 _“I can hear you muttering out there!”_ Steve calls from the dining room. _“I like all complaints about me to be audible!”_

“I said you can go sit on an egg!” 

_“Yeah, I love you too!”_

Tony rolls his eyes but smiles to himself before shaking his head in fond exasperation. Instead of arguing, he rolls up his sleeves as he stalks toward the motorcycle.

.

.

.

Sometimes Steve doesn’t ask him what he wants but that’s okay because Tony realizes he only does that when he knows what Tony needs.

For example:

Tony needs to wear his helmet, same as him, and Steve somehow convinces him of that with tender kisses and soft-spoken French Tony hardly understands but still gets hot for. He needs Steve treating him like precious cargo while he fists his hands in the front of Steve’s sweatshirt while the rehabbed bike rumbles under them between their thighs. 

He needs to be tightly pressed against his husband as they take a drive along the seaside under a clear night sky. He needs to feel the thrill of his heart racing as he shouts an encouragement for Steve to go just a little faster, please, just a little faster. And he absolutely needs to hear Steve laugh at the request before giving in and letting Tony have his way, letting the clutch out quickly, making the revs temporarily spike as the engine struggles to catch up to the rear tire’s speed. 

There's something about Steve that makes Tony feel so young inside, but not in a childish way. He wakes the pure side of Tony, the best side, all the facets of himself that only require love to be healthy and whole. 

Steve is fearless on the motorcycle, but also practical. He keeps Tony’s confidence in his ability when he trails the bike for faster, smoother cornering around the many bends and turns of that seaside road. He shows how capable he is of handling such a powerful machine while also incorporating little tricks here and there that make Tony whoop in delight, even as he clutches Steve tighter, closer, while he does so.

Tony’s not afraid, not with Steve. His Alpha makes him feel safe, protected, cherished, and alive. 

Steve is, irrefutably, what makes Tony's heart strong, and he loves Tony with the kind of incredible focus that never fails to make Tony feel so incredibly lucky.

Howard was wrong.

Steve proves that over and over again by devoting his love to Tony like Tony’s the absolute last of his kind.

It's marvelous, magnificent, superb, glorious, sublime, lovely, delightful - and then some.

.

.

.

Steve takes him to a glow-in-the-dark roller rink where he falls on his ass a dozen times but doesn’t stop smiling at Tony the whole time.

"You really are awful at this."

"I did warn you. Knees and elbows - ain't that what I said?"

"You did."

“Well, you should know that I’m a glutton for pain,” Steve says after he’s fallen again for the hundredth time, his side of the bond awash with yellowed pinks and reds. "I could do this all day."

Tony huffs as he grabs Steve’s hands to heft him to his feet because he knows the Alpha won't give up easily. “You need to stop being afraid to fall. That’s why you’re tripping over so much. You lock up when you try to brace yourself but you’re not finding your balance because you’re so focused on trying not to fall.” He lets go of Steve’s hands to clutch his shoulders. He looks his husband dead and the eyes to say, “Steve. Buddy. Lamb. You’re going to fall, okay? This is the longest you’ve ever been on wheels, so don’t take it personally. Just accept it.”

Steve snorts. “Great pep talk.”

Tony just pats him affectionately on the cheek with a condescending grin. “I’ll make a student of you yet,” he promises before he begins skating backward expertly with fluid grace. “Come on, Cap. Keep up. Let’s train those thighs.”

“Christ, I already feel like I’ve been pummeled,” Steve complains lowly as he gives in to a wobbly starting glide, hands reaching out before him in Tony’s direction. “Right, so. Accept the fall. Accept the fall.”

Tony smiles fondly as his Alpha mutters that little mantra to himself over and over until, hey now, wouldn’t you know it? He starts falling less and less. 

Steve gets better and better the more laps they take and the more Tony corrects his form. 

By the time Steve’s got a good handle of it, the rink’s DJ shouts, “Aight ya’ll, we’ve reached the end of the night. You know what that means! Last dance. Couples only. Couples _only_. If you’re by yourself, you need to get off the floor. I’m gonna go old school with this last one. Couple’s only.”

From the speakers, the song blares, _“This is something new - the Casper Slide part two …”_ and there are some excited and gleeful shouts as couples of all ages start to flood the floor.

This means it’s Steve’s turn to teach Tony something, and honestly, this dance lesson is the most fun one he’s ever had to learn. Now Tony can finally say he’s done the Cha-Cha Slide.

It feels good to forget about their problems, if only just for a little while.

.

.

.

“That was fun,” Tony comments while they sit at one of those umbrella tables peppered in front of a Columbian food truck, splitting a few baskets of spicy green plantain empanadas with cheese filling between them. “You’re really going to feel it tomorrow though, sorry to say.”

Steve snorts between bites, chews, and swallows before he says, “Bold of you to assume I’m not feeling it now.”

“Correction: you _think_ you feel it now,” Tony crows with a grin from where he's sitting across the table, stealing an empanada from Steve’s pile just to get his Alpha to do that thing where he pretends like he doesn't notice. “Trust me, Stevie. You’re going to _feel it_ , feel it tomorrow.”

“Gosh, you don’t soften your blows at all,” Steve snarks back and laughs when Tony delivers a light kick to his shin under the table. “Well, you got yourself a good laugh out of it, so that’s nearly worth all the aches and pains in my future.”

Tony tries to hide his smile behind his can of apple soda. Then he lowers it to say, “How’s Bucky? You haven’t mentioned him in a while.”

“Ah.” Steve chews and swallows, taking a moment to wash it down with a few gulps of his lulo juice. “That’s because the last email he sent Sam and I said that he was going deep. Called it a Blackout. It could be weeks, maybe even months, before he can connect with the outside world. Which sucks because he didn’t address the elephant in the room and that worries me.”

“Tell me more about this elephant.”

Steve does. He talks at great lengths about what a shitty drunk Bucky’s Alpha father is, the abusive horrors he put his family through, the current complication of him inserting himself in their lives again, and how the threatening vow Bucky made long ago has a high chance of still being a thing Bucky will see to being wrathfully carried out. 

Steve’s not sympathetic in the least to this George Barnes guy, nor does he sound particularly against the idea of seeing the older man shoved six feet under. His side of the bond crackles in indignant ivory whites and thunderous greyish blacks which Tony is coming to understand means that Steve is feeling particularly vindictive and murderous. This would also mean that that’s exactly how he feels whenever Tony mentions the things that his parents or his godfather put him through.

Tony probably shouldn’t find that as sweet as he does, but he’s never pretended to be reasonable when it came to Steve. 

After Steve’s got it all out there, hashed out to the very last detail, he sighs this relieved sort of exhale as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, like talking about his worries and problems with Tony gives him unavoidable peace.

Tony has never been more in love with this man. He says, “The prime number few.”

Steve blinks and pauses mid-bite. “What?”

“The prime number few,” Tony simply repeats. “People who are excellent are few in number. It’s a garden path sentence. Never really got it until now, until you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Tony smiles at him, chest tight with indescribable feelings of warmth and pride. “You care so much and expect nothing in return for doing it. You’re a good man, Steve. I’m happy you’re mine.”

“I’m happy to be yours,” Steve immediately volleys back like he’s worried that he’s not doing enough to make that clear and Tony’s smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt. “You’re beautiful. It kills me sometimes how pretty you are, and I get to look at you and enjoy it whenever I want. And those eyes. Christ, your eyes are everything to me.”

“Oh - oh, Steve. You can’t - you shouldn’t - just, please stop talking for a moment,” Tony begs as his face goes red because he’s getting ridiculously wet right now.

“Sorry.” Steve doesn’t look or sound apologetic in the least. “I’ll just continue to think about it then like I always do.”

“I take it back. You’re terrible.”

Steve laughs and they go back to eating, taking turns shooting each other heated looks filled with fond affection. 

Tony trades the last of his empanadas for the rest of Steve’s lulo juice.

They don’t go home right away as Tony assumes, but instead, Steve takes them to a vacant parking lot just off the side of the road and, quite seriously, asks Tony if he wants to learn one more thing: driving a motorcycle.

Tony doesn’t even hesitate or think about his response when he agrees. He never in his life thought to consider an opportunity like this. He seizes it now that it’s come to him and gets an immense thrill out of controlling a rumbling motor bike between his thighs while his husband sits behind him, plastered along his back as he instructs Tony through a few laps in that vacant parking lot.

Howard was wrong.

.

.

.

They giggle and giggle and giggle as they ransack the kitchens upon their return to the beach mansion in search of chocolate syrup, whip cream, and champagne they plan to do nothing but disrespectful things with. 

They also kiss. A lot. And each time they do, Tony can’t be sure if he’d ever been kissed like that before, can’t remember a time when Steve hadn’t ever managed to get him so worked up with his tongue, getting so turned on just from making out.

The trek to the guest house, which should have taken no more than two minutes, ends up taking ten only because Steve and Tony take turns pinning each other against walls, furniture, and such, shushing each other between laughter and kisses when a thump rings a little too loudly. They haven’t even had a drop of alcohol and they're already acting as if they're tipsy; drunk and giddy with their desire for each other.  

After a few more false starts, they manage to stumble out to the pool area and towards the guest house, both of them freezing when a throat clears.

Tony gently pushes Steve back, freezing when he sees Agent Coulson standing on the doorstep of the guest house with that strange redheaded Omega from the bookstore, both of them looking mildly amused.

Steve has gone stiff beside him.

“I hope we didn’t come at a bad time,” the Beta man remarks placidly, lips twitching faintly and, yeah, he’s still got that same weird sense of humor that Tony remembers. To Steve, while flashing his badge, he says, “I’m Deputy Director Phil Coulson of SHIELD.” Then to both of them, he continues, “And this is my associate, Special Agent Natasha Romonav.” 

“Tony.” Natasha nods her head elegantly while also flashing her credentials. Then she says, “Steve.” 

“Pedestrian,” Steve replies with a dismissive tone, staring at her blankly. 

Tony snorts before he can even stop himself but, goddamn, his husband could really be cuttingly petty. He loves it.

“Hazard of the job,” Natasha acknowledges with a hint of apology for her earlier deception.

Steve doesn’t appear to be moved. “Is there something we can help you two with? Little late for a house call, special agent or not.”

“I believe you know why we’re here,” Coulson replies smoothly. He looks directly at Tony. “There are better ways to get my attention, Mr. Stark. I thought we agreed that testing the integrity of our national security was not one of them.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Timeout. Complete timeout,” Tony says as he mimes the gesture along with his words. “Firstly, I'm not a Stark anymore, it's Rogers now. Secondly, I thought your name was just Agent. Thirdly, I’ve done no such thing. You’re not here about the plasma gun?”

“What plasma gun?” Natasha echoes as her gaze sharpens.

“Whoops. Did I say plasma gun? I meant plasma _gum_.”

“Plasma gum,” Natasha repeats back with a skeptical tone. “As in the banned fruit candy from Belgium?”

Tony snaps his fingers and points. “That’s the one. Anyway, if that’s all the questions you have, we’ll just be heading to bed while the champagne is still chilled,” he says, holding up the aforementioned dark green bottle in his hand for their viewing pleasure. “So glad we got this mess sorted out. Goodnight.”

Coulson lifts a hand in a stopping gesture. “Mr. Stark -”

“Stop calling me that, it’s Rogers. As in, read: married. Happily until about ten minutes ago when you gatecrashed our fun.”

Steve huffs beside him, shooting him a warm but proud look.

“Mr. Rogers,” Coulson insists, ignoring Tony’s theatrics. “If you are as innocent as you say, then why was your AI rooting through our most protected encrypted servers?”

“What? FRIDAY? You have - you’ve seen FRIDAY? Where is she? How is -”

“I need you to answer my question.”

“No!” Tony snaps. “Not until I know FRIDAY is okay.”

Coulson and Natasha share a look, seeming to silently communicate something between them. Then Coulson gives a curt nod before Natasha turns and takes out one of her earpieces to hand to Tony.

Tony stares at in confusion before he tucks it carefully in his right ear and waits.

“ _Boss?_ ” FRIDAY asks tentatively. 

Tony has to quickly blink past the tears trying to build up at the sound of her voice. “F-FRIDAY?”  

“ _I’m here._ ”

Tony presses a hand to his racing heart as he closes his eyes and sighs in relief. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, watching him. “Is that … is she -”

“She’s there,” Tony swears, voice wobbly with emotion. “She’s there. I can hear her. She’s … she’s okay. You’re okay, right? Tell me you’re okay.”

“ _I am functioning well within optimal perimeters, Boss_ ,” FRIDAY promises. _"Deputy Director Coulson and Agent Romanov have been very kind hosts."_

“Good. Good.” Tony exhales again, feeling a weight being lifted. Then he glares at Coulson and Natasha. “Why do you have my AI?”

“I think the better question is: why did you send her to _us?_ ” Natasha volleys back.

Tony makes a frustrated noise. “For the last time, I didn’t send her to you! I sent her looking for the source of that -” He stops suddenly. “Oh.” He gives a manic giggle before he can help it. “Oh, this is bad.” 

“Really bad,” Steve agrees, catching on quickly and Tony takes a moment to feel pride over how smart his husband is. “You guys got a lot of snakes in-house it seems.”

“Octopus might be the better term, or is the Hydra insignia a squid? I could never figure that out.”

“It’s actually a skull on top of the legs of an octopus,” Steve clarifies.

“Gentlemen, would you mind cluing me in on what you’re implying,” Coulson interjects, looking slightly perturbed.

Tony says, “A week ago, a message was transmitted on a worldwide platform across all telecommunication devices. Impossible, right? Should be, but we all witnessed it and I wanted to know how that could even be possible. So I sent FRIDAY to source it out and guess where it led her.”

Coulson stares evenly at him for a long stretch of time. Then he says, “You’re certain?”

“Oh absolutely. I’m surprised FRIDAY didn’t already mention it.”

“She refused to talk to us until we gained your trust.”

“Which you definitely accomplished by spying on my husband and I,” Steve shoots back and Tony clears his throat in a clear attempt to smother his amusement.

“Look,” Coulson starts, lifting both hands in a placating gesture. “As of now, the way I see it, the four of us have stumbled across a dangerous gambit. How we proceed from here will determine everything.”

“Not my problem,” Tony protests immediately. “Not _our_ problem. The way _I_ see it, _you’ve_ got everything you need from me.”

“You made it your problem when you inserted yourself in the mix of things,” Natasha points out with a faint frown. “I have to say, I never took you for selfish.”

“And I never took you for more than clumsy, yet here we are,” Tony snaps, not fond of her judgy tone at all. “Not our problem, as I said.”

“If you’re sure you can’t consult us, well,” Coulson begins, tone sympathetic but leveled. “Then I’m sorry to say that we’ll have to continue to detain your AI. We need to know what she found.”

Tony is furious and barely restrains from throwing Natasha’s earpiece in her face when he hands it back over, much to his reluctance. “We’re done here.”

Natasha looks like she wants to press but Coulson silences her with just one look. Then he reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to pull a business card free. “In case you change your mind,” he explains when Tony hesitates taking it. "You would just be brought on as a Consultant."

Tony still doesn’t touch it but Steve accepts it on his behalf, most likely to rush them off the property. “Assholes,” Tony spits once he’s sure they’ve gone. He storms into the guest house in search of Little Ben, giving him specific instructions to shift the parameters of the sequence code for his nano-bugs. “I’m going to jailbreak her. They can’t keep her from me. It’s not right.”

“We’ve got to be careful,” Steve cautions, joining Tony after the Omega storms his way to the bedroom, moodily stomping around while he undresses. “If they’re as entangled with Hydra like it seems, we don’t wanna do anything that’s gonna draw attention to us. Let's not be hasty.”

That worst part is that Tony knows Steve is right but he refuses to verbalize it. “She was there, Steve. Right in my ear and I -” He chokes on the words, hardly resisting when Steve pulls him close. Tony clings to him and cries into his shoulder for a little while. “It’s not fair,” he hiccups. “Punishing me because I wanted to do the right thing. It’s not fair.”

“Assholes, like you said,” Steve murmurs into the crown of his head, the both of them smooshed together on the floor at the end of the bed. “We’ll figure out how to get her back, don’t worry.”

“Your optimism kills me sometimes,” Tony mumbles tiredly but smiles when it gets Steve to chuckle. “Can we just go to bed? I’m not - I’m sorry that I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“Please don’t apologize for that. I’m not entitled to any part of you unless you say,” Steve sternly insists. “No one ever died because their partner changed their mind about being intimate. We’ve been through a lot tonight, so I’m all for cuddling if you want.”

“I want,” Tony admits and gives in to the urge to kiss his Alpha softly, reverently, gratefully. “I love you,” he says when he pulls back.

Steve rewards him with a lovestruck grin. “Triple that from me for you,” he replies.

Tony smiles into their next kiss before dragging them both to their feet so they can finish getting ready for bed. 

They come to a mutual agreement sometime later while they’re making themselves comfortable in bed to watch _Pan’s Labyrinth_ as a way to distract themselves from the day’s events since neither of them has seen it. Tony only knows about it because of Miles and Gwen's recommendation of it a while back.

While the Faun gives Ofelia a mandrake root, which seems to ease Carmen's illness, Tony says, “I’m going to have to say yes to them, aren’t I?”

Steve seems to know what he means without asking to confirm. He always seems to know. He says, “Possibly. We could feel them out. But, well, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make them sweat over it. Maybe they’ll bend enough to negotiate.”

“Doubt it but that’s a nice thought,” Tony supposes with a sigh. “How’d Hydra manage to weasel their way into an elite spy organization? It’s blowing my mind. What are they trying to do?” 

“That’s the million-dollar question,” Steve says with a sigh of his own. “It’s probably why they need a genius like you to help them figure it out.”

Tony smiles sadly. “Yeah. Go figure.”

A thoughtful silence falls between them as they turn their attention back to the TV. When the movie ends, Steve switches everything off before joining Tony again in bed, spooning the Omega close.

In the darkness, the embrace feels sacred like a promise, like a little touch of heaven. Tony thinks it’s funny how, even though both of them are still very much wide awake, neither of them say a word, and yet somehow are communicating something between them with unspoken warmth, together, cozy.

Tony forgets about his woes to live in this moment, safe in Steve’s embrace. The way his Alpha’s arms are wrapped tight around his midsection brings a peace he really only gets at times like these when they are delegating affections between them under the moonlight. These acts of physical affection generate a calming of the storms in both of their hearts. 

Despite the craziness of their lives, Tony thinks it's simple moments like these that give him hope for the future. In Steve’s arms, he can believe that there is nothing out there to fear; that all there is, is sunshine, beautiful trees, and kind people - light in the darkness.

As Aristotle alluded to: a man who does not enjoy the act of doing good deeds is not a good man; thus, for virtue to exist as a virtue, it must stem from love and thus love must be the supreme virtue from which all others branch.

If Steve’s love is Tony’s virtue, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect it.

Even if that means joining forces with SHIELD to help them sort out their mess.


	20. YEAR 1: PART IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - just a reminder: after this chapter, this story will be graduating to a new updating schedule (every other week)

Tony’s not sure what wakes him up at the crack of dawn that Saturday, but he’s driven by an intense need to have something ice cold and sweet. He blinks past his initial drowsiness to see that he and Steve have shifted with Tony face down, hugging a pillow to himself while his husband acts like a human blanket, sprawled over him with his cheek pressed on the dip between Tony’s shoulder blades.

Tony yawns and shifts his legs around, sighing at the coolness of the sheets before he mumbles, “Steve, baby, let me up.”

“Mm?”

Tony smiles. “Let me up. I’m thirsty.”

“Mm.” Steve rolls off of him and cuddles into some nearby pillows, shifting until he’s comfortable enough to drop back off into sleep again.

Tony gently slides out of bed, yawning again as he takes a moment to stretch before padding quietly to the kitchen to raid the fridge for something to drink. His body still feels heavy with the weight of a good night’s sleep, but he’s lucid enough to move his limbs the way he needs them to go.

There’s some leftover purple punch from the other day and so he grabs the pitcher and pours himself a monumental serving, slamming through it in under a minute before he starts round two. He keeps going until he taps out at round four, absentmindedly watching Little Ben quietly tapping away at the keyboard of Tony’s laptop.

Tony wants to make a joke about being a workaholic but there’s a faint glow off to the side that catches his full attention. It’s Steve’s phone, screen lighting up with some kind of beach advisory warning from where it’s lying beside the abandoned bottle of champagne they didn’t get to uncork due to the rude disruption of two government clowns that shall remain nameless.

Tony doesn’t feel like being annoyed or sad or anything but tired at the moment, so he picks up Steve’s phone to distract himself, thinking he could probably figure out Steve’s passcode if he really tried. He smirks and thinks about changing his lock screen and wallpaper with something outlandish as a harmless prank. But what he already finds there stops him up short.

It’s Tony. Steve has _Tony_ set as his lock screen. It’s a photo of Tony smiling at Steve off to the side while Coney Island glowed beautifully behind him, his fingers wrapped around the base of his soft-serve cone, the other hand in his pocket. He had to admit, it was one of his better photos, no matter how weird it was seeing himself like that.

Howard and Maria never allowed him the pleasure of having personal photos. The only time he really saw himself was usually by accident, linked to some gossip column or another if the Stark PR Team hadn’t managed to stop things like that from making it to print or to a URL. Howard and Maria had this thing where they only wanted their family to be featured and seen in business, high society, and scientific magazines/journals. Anything outside of that they found to be too lowbrow and offensive. They were always so protective of the Stark moniker, of their image. 

But this … this was nice. More than, he decides, cheeks burning with shy flattery. It amazes him that Steve really meant it when he said he liked looking at Tony. God, his Alpha was such a romantic, the loveable lump.

And who knows? Maybe things could be different with Steve, _they_ could be different. They could be and do better than Tony’s parents. He wants their future kids to be able to flip through an album of their parents' lives before them and see how much they loved each other, how happy they were from the very beginning. He’s a little peeved and sore that they didn’t take pictures on their wedding day but given the circumstances, it’s not unusual. Maybe they could get married again?

 _Don’t be stupid,_ Tony quickly scolds himself. _Weddings are expensive and Steve probably doesn’t want to waste money on something we’ve already technically done._

Yeah, Tony trashes that kind of thinking and just decides to take the ‘L’ for no wedding photos. That doesn’t mean he can’t be diligent from this point forward. He could probably build a camera himself, maybe even ask Sarah or Sam for advice about the best kind of memories to capture since they seem to be masters of that area.

Suddenly all Tony wants to do is build that camera, imagining all the moments he could capture if he did and his feet are moving towards the duffel bag holding his gear. He sits on the floor in the nest of pillows by the coffee table in perfect view of the patio doors where Little Ben is still perched above, webbed up in the corner working on Tony’s nano-bugs without pause.

Tony activates the blueprint feature of his tablet and lets the holographic display load while he takes a moment to close the bedroom door so as not to disturb Steve while he works. Then he makes a side trip to the kitchen to brew himself a pot of coffee and when it’s done, he takes the entire pot with him to the living room with a mug, spending a few minutes opening one of the sliding patio doors.

Tony locks it in place to keep it open, spending ten minutes or so appreciating the cool breeze floating through the screen door, that draft soaked with the smell of the sea. He drinks three cups of coffee back to back as he soaks in the beautiful sight of a rising sun covered in veils of blue, pink, and orange while the cry of circling seagulls begins to echo.

It’s peaceful.

After his limbs begin to feel jittery with engineered energy, he wastes no time returning to his spot on the floor in the nest of pillows still soaked with his and Steve’s combined scent. If possible, it helps him double down on his concentration towards designing a few schematics for different camera prototypes. He’s pitched about fifteen ideas to himself while he researched different types of cameras on his phone and narrows it down to the exact type he wants for this simple fact: nostalgia.

That’s how Steve finds him many hours later, building a 4K Ultra HD long range instant camera with 3D filter features and 16MP sensors. He says, “So this is why you didn’t come back to bed. Thought you might’ve gotten lost somehow.”

Tony snorts when he looks up at the other man but doesn’t pause his work to say, “Got an idea and couldn’t leave it be. Smile.”

“Wha-” Steve blinks against the flash aimed his way. “Ok, why?”

Tony ignores him as he giddily watches as the camera prints out the picture, bursting into a manic giggle at what he sees, holding it up for Steve to view as well. “It’s 3D so shift it back and forth. Your face is priceless. What a way to start.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so impressed and confused all at once. The lengths you drive me to,” Steve mutters mostly to himself with an exasperated grin that matches his tone as he gazes down at the comical 3D photo of himself, watching the way it shimmers. “What are you starting and why shouldn’t I burn this photo?”

“Ah, ah, ah! No.” Tony quickly snatches the photo away before Steve can get any ideas. He spends a moment wandering around in search of a permanent marker while he explains, “I’m starting an album.”

“An album?”

“For our kids.”

“For our - Tony, we don’t have kids.”

Tony shoots him a look and rolls his eyes when all he finds is Steve wearing that stupid sly grin of his. “Okay, you are not as funny as you think you are, Rogers. I don’t know _why_ I fell for that but whatever. This is just one of those things I was denied growing up, okay? Seriously, your mom has got a million photos of you and of her and of your dad but if I wanted to even see my own baby picture, I’d have to google the cover spread my parents did for TIME magazine when I was born. Starks don’t take private photos, they have their photos _taken_.”

Steve gawks at him. “You - you have a _spread_ in TIME magazine?”

“Was that seriously the only thing you got out of all that?" Tony finally locates a marker finally and he scribbles out the time, the date, and the location before stashing it. He sends the digital version of the photo to his personal encrypted servers. "I mean, I’m pouring my heart out here, lamb.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve laughs, reaching out to reel Tony in when he gets close enough, ignoring the defiant scowl tossed his way, both of them knowing that Tony is only sporting it for show. Steve gives him a lazy smile. “You’re such a softie, Sweet Pea. You know that right?”

“Myth. I’m tough as shit.”

“That too,” Steve agrees easily and how he’s managed to become the most difficult person to argue with, Tony will never know. Maybe he is as soft as Steve is claiming but since it’s just Steve, it’s hard to view it as the worst thing in the world. He’ll always be soft for Steve. “But really, honey, you wanna give our kids and their future partners something to amuse themselves over, I say go for it.”

Tony smiles into the kiss Steve ducks in to give him, letting himself be kissed within an inch of his life until he’s breathless with ravenous hunger and a physical need to be closer to his husband. 

Steve is the most fascinating person he’s ever met and he _loves_ Tony genuinely, wholeheartedly, which Tony can count on two fingers the only other times _that’s_ happened. Howard used to do everything he could to put Tony in his place but Steve doesn’t treat him like that, would probably sport that horrified _‘I need to break bones’_ look if Tony even mentioned the ways Howard used to ‘handle’ him. But not Steve. Steve would never because he treats Tony with honest respect and makes him feel normal, wanted - appreciated. 

Tony thrives on things like that. He used to have to rely on being self-sufficient (the consequence of a lonely childhood where his mother gave retail therapy all she had to fill the void and his father concentrated on expanding Stark Industries while he hit the bottle _hard_ ). Yeah, you could say that Tony’s had a rough time of it.

Back to the matter at hand, though, which is that Steve is awesome. He appreciates Tony’s enthusiasm for robotics and engineering, verbalizing how much he likes the endgame of what Tony has accomplished, as well as the process that led up to it. And he never complains when Tony goes on an excited rant or tangent about something he finds interesting, or when he tries explaining himself or his intentions concerning a certain project.

Steve is perfect for him.

Tony will never have any doubts about that.

Steve pulls back but still keeps Tony pressed close, their chests heaving against each other’s. “Do you know how much I hate waking up without you?” he pants.

Tony has no idea how Steve expects him to think after a kiss like _that._  He glares to illustrate this point and grinds up against him. They both groan at the friction.

“Hate it -” Steve struggles to continue as Tony grinds against him again. “Hate it almost as much as Indiana Jones hates snakes.”

That stops Tony up short and he finds himself rolling through some incredulous snorts. “Jesus, why are you so - the things you say sometimes - _god_. I can’t with you.”

“Your fault for giving me ammunition.”

“You’re such a baby,” Tony accuses, squirming impatiently as he walks them backwards towards the bedroom.

“And you’re pretty,” Steve replies, kissing him over and over. “Pretty, pretty little Omega. All mine.”

Tony groans, grinding into him as he gets deeply wet with the praise. “Keep talking, sir,” he begs, the aroused flush on his face deepening with the bold request as he drops to his knees before his husband, working quickly on his pants.

“Christ, yeah, okay,” Steve pants, letting Tony do what he wants, the both of them shaking by the time Tony wraps his lips around Steve’s miracle of a dick. “You’re - _ah,_  you’re good, honey. So well behaved, proper. And clever. I love how clever you are - _oh, god._  Smarter than me - _Christ, yes, like that_ \- smarter than us all. Love - _oh, oh, oh_ \- love how you helped me - _fuck, ah_ \- bring all those knothead Alphas to their knees without them even realizing it.”

Tony works him, up and down, hitting all the spots he’s recorded in his mind, never tired of the view he gets when he gazes up at his Alpha panting above him, looking flushed and overwhelmed by Tony’s enthusiasm. He loves how Steve tastes, loves the heated flavor of his skin when he tries to fit as much as he can get of Steve in his mouth, rolling his tongue against the underside of Steve’s cock just to get Steve to twitch forward, thrusting carelessly in his mouth.

Steve tries to apologize but Tony just groans, closing his eyes, encouraging the roughness as he reaches out to put Steve’s large hands in his hair. “God, your mouth, honey,” he compliments shakily. “Nobody’s ever given it to me as good as you.”

Tony’s nearly horrified at how wet his lashes become at the compliment but Steve has this way of chipping at his walls. He pulls off Steve’s cock with a wetly lewd sound, knowing his mouth must be as slick with precum and kiss swollen as it feels. He rasps, “We need to get on the bed like yesterday.”

Steve laughs hoarsely, helping Tony to his feet and takes the opportunity to kiss him, deep and tender, when Tony is in reaching distance. When he’s sure he has Tony nicely winded and dazed, he confesses, “I was thinking maybe we could … do it differently this time.”

“Huh?”

Steve looks charmed by the incoherency, but he would since he’s responsible for it. “How would you feel about - if you could, you know, give it to _me?_ ” and he’s blushing with the words.

“Give it to …” It clicks. Tony feels pure unadulterated shock flood his system at the innuendo and he gawks because seriously? That’s - that’s just - wow, okay. “You’d let me - let me - do _that?_ To _you?_ ”

Steve nods, even as his blush becomes more prominent. “Yeah, I mean … why not? I trust you, and I want you to. I’m not, like, a traditionalist or anything.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck shyly but his shoulders are set with certainty. “Kinda boring to just do it one way for the rest of our lives.”

“I’d never describe our sex life as boring, but god, yes, I want that too. I just - I never thought to even - I didn’t even think Alphas -”

“Think we’ve already established I’m not uniform, sweetheart,” Steve dryly remarks with a wry smirk. 

Tony has to admit that Steve’s got him there. “So how - how do you want to - uh.”

Steve seems to take pity on him. “However you want to give it to me.”

Tony groans, cock twitching at the words. “You are lethal, you know that?”

Steve just winks and moves to sit on the edge of the bed as he turns Tony by his hips so they can face each other. He smiles up at Tony, giving the Omega a crazy surge of butterflies that seem to be out for blood. He says, “Tony, honey, you ain’t gotta look so nervous.”

“Can’t help it,” Tony mumbles as Steve helps him get undressed. “What if I hurt you?”

“I worry about that all the time, but do I actually hurt you?”

“No - you - you treat me - it’s not the same,” Tony tries to argue. “You have to let me - you have to tell me the best way to get you ready. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. I won't let you,” Steve promises. “You know how vocal I am in bed. That’s not an issue.”

Tony can feel heat prickling at his face but he ignores it as he crawls after Steve, who backs himself up towards the headboard as he continues to strip out of the rest of his own clothes. Tony’s heart is galloping frantically in his chest, palms sweaty, but he wants so much to give Steve exactly what he’s asking for - it’s just that he also wants it to be very good for the Alpha.

“Think there’s some lube under - yeah. Here it is.” Steve pulls a small bottle from under the pillows, waving it triumphantly with a playful wiggle under his eyes. “I don’t get anywhere near as wet as you do, so we’ll have to do this the old fashioned way.”

“Right,” Tony chokes as he thinks about it. He accepts the bottle from Steve with shaky hands, thankful when his husband doesn’t comment on it, only pinning him with that patiently loving gaze of his. “So … uh, I’d like to - are you okay on your back?”

“Wanna see my face, huh?” Steve teases and Tony would bite him for it if he wasn’t so focused on pouring half the bottle of lube onto his dominant hand, making the sheets messy with it. “Works for me, sweetheart. I wanna see your face too.”

“Okay, shut up for a second, you are not helping my concentration,” Tony complains as his cock twitches to full hardness while he gets deeply wet, clenching around nothing. 

Steve chuckles huskily but mimes zipping his lips, brow furrowing a second later as Tony carefully works the first finger in and he just - he - he takes it with a  _sigh._  

“Oh my god,” Tony breathes marveling at how warm Steve feels on the inside and how easily he takes it. “Oh my _god_ , Steve, you - you’ve done this before.”

Steve laughs, blushing a little as he flutters around the careful grind and thrusts of Tony’s index finger. “Yeah,” he admits shakily, eyes going a little dazed as he really gets into it. “Few times at first just to experiment - _ah,_  that’s - that’s good, a little deeper, honey - and it was with this girl I dated briefly in college. She had this - _oh, god_ \- had this strap-on we used to - god, yeah- used to play around with sometimes. _Fuck_ , you can give me another finger, honey, I won’t break. Promise.”

Tony nods clumsily as he waits for the jealousy to come but it doesn’t. Instead, he finds that he’s just endlessly _fascinated_ by Steve’s sexual history. If anything, he’s feeling even more self-conscious as he slips Steve another finger, scissoring then in and out as he watches Steve’s red face closely for any indication of discomfort or pain.

“Another.”

“You sure?”

Steve nods slowly as he fists the sheets under him, rocking his hips down as Tony adds another, body jerking with a groan when Tony’s fingers skirt against the grove of his prostate. Tony sets it to memory and aims in that general direction as he continues opening Steve up.

Tony can’t take his eyes off of the way his Alpha is falling apart. “Jesus, you - you really do like this, don’t you?” he marvels, getting a little bolder, twisting his fingers up in a way he personally prefers and feels his heart race in triumph as it gets Steve to groan as his face gets pinker while he clenches greedily around Tony’s slick digits. “You could come like this, couldn’t you?”

“Only if you keep that up,” Steve admits breathlessly, rocking down again, getting comfortable enough and lost to his own pleasure to just go for it, Tony’s pace drawing a quiet moan of need. “You feel - you feel amazing, _god,_  knew you would. Come on, I’m ready for you.”

“One sec,” Tony mutters tightly as he works one more finger in, knowing he isn't that big, not nearly even close to Steve's side. But it's just that he's a little obsessed with how well Steve can take it. He watches four of his fingers move in and out of Steve, fascinated by the way Steve's chest heaves with each movement, his thighs twitch with a slight tremble from where they’re sprawled near Tony’s hips. “Let me have this, I - I need to remember you just like this. Please.”

Steve groans with a shaky nod, clenching around Tony’s fingers when Tony leans forward so his tongue can path a bold line up the slender curve of Steve’s neck, alternating between teeth and tongue, causing pain and then soothing it. “ _Christ_ , honey, you’re killing me here. That second up yet?”

Tony laughs and bites down, eliciting a harsh gasp from Steve's slightly bruised throat as Steve fists his fingers roughly in Tony's hair, pulling until Tony shudders and fumbles through the next thrust of his fingers inside of Steve’s body. “Yeah - yeah I think I - I need to be inside you like right now.” 

Steve tilts Tony’s head to suck a few marks of his own into Tony’s collarbone while Tony carefully withdraws his fingers. Steve is doing things with his tongue that makes Tony fumble with the bottle of lube he has to grab to pour over himself, working his already wet hand up and down his cock with a desperate groan.  

Tony lines himself up, pulling back to look into Steve’s eyes with a silent question that Steve nods at and then the both of them whine as Tony sinks oh so very carefully inside of Steve. “Fuck,” he whimpers shakily. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wait.” He literally has to pause midway because even with his thorough stretching, Steve is like a tight vacuum of heat and if Tony doesn’t get a grip, he’s going to embarrass himself. 

“S’good,” Steve slurs encouragingly, running his hands up and down Tony’s trembling back with soothing caresses. “S’okay, honey, you feel good.”

“Oh god … oh _-_ oh _Jesus,_ Steve,” Tony breathes, trembling involuntarily as Steve's tongue traces hair-raising patterns on the edge of his left ear. “I’m trying to make this good for you,” he complains shakily.

“Mm,” Steve merely hums, doing a few more things with his tongue before he pulls back. “Gotta be all the way inside me for that.”

“Shut up,” Tony pants as his face explodes with a darker flush not related to arousal at all. “God, I’m trying not to cum.”

“Defeats the purpose of all this, don’t you think?” Steve laughs, reaching between them to flick and twist Tony’s nipples like the evil little gremlin he is, just to get Tony to give a startled whine as his hips thrust forward involuntarily. They both cry out when Tony manages to slam home, their bodies finally pressed as close as possible.

Tony is so unbelievably fucking surprised that he manages not to cum right then and there with Steve’s walls pulsing around him desperately. “Cheater,” he complains, dropping his forehead to Steve’s right shoulder. 

Steve chuckles darkly but then rests his hands on Tony’s upper arms, fingers curling around the muscle there, even as Tony struggles to hold himself up. 

Tony can tell he's being given control, and he’s grateful to Steve. Even though they’ve come this far with no troubles or hiccups, he’s still nervous as hell, but it helps that Steve seems much calmer than him, albeit feisty, but attentively patient. He eventually finds the willpower to draw back and thrust in, savoring the groan of encouragement Steve gives. 

“You can, _ah_ , go a bit faster, honey. Told you I won’t break,” Steve swears between moans, shoving his hips down to illustrate his point, dragging a short groan from Tony. “C’mon, honey, give it to me like you mean it.”

“Fuck.” Tony doesn't need to be told twice. He throws caution to the wind and changes the angle of his hips and then works himself in and out of his Alpha with all the strength his lower body possessed. 

A snapping, choked cry is Steve’s response to the change in tempo. “ _Oh Jesus fucking Christ,_ ” he moans loudly, tugging Tony desperately into a messy, uncoordinated kiss.

Tony can feel the start of his orgasm swelling up deep inside of him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can last but he’s desperate to get Steve there first. He reaches down between them and starts stroking Steve with a hurried but confident fist.

Steve gasps, writhing into it and scratching his nails down Tony’s back.

“Oh, fuck, come on, _please,_ ” Tony begs between gasps of his own. “Please, sir, show me I’m good.” 

Steve gives a startled shout as his orgasm carves its way through him, spilling over Tony’s hand jet after jet until he’s squeezing down around Tony, literally milking Tony’s own orgasm from him.

Tony sees galaxies explode behind his eyes, loses sense of time, loses the rhythm of his thrusts, can hardly breathe as he finishes as deep as he can go inside of Steve. Then he’s collapsing above Steve like his strings have been cut, draping over Steve’s trembling form like a human blanket. He closes his eyes with his ear pressed to the left side of Steve’s chest, listening to quick knocks and thumps Steve’s heart makes. 

When he manages to catch his breath, without lifting his head, Tony asks, “I did good, sir?”

“Honey, you’ve got to know you’re the best I ever had,” Steve swears, laughing fondly. “I cannot emphasize that enough.”

Tony smiles and finds the strength to push himself up to kiss Steve softly as he carefully exits his body, both of them sighing mournfully at the separation. He shifts off to the side, tossing a leg over Steve’s naked waist as the Alpha combs his fingers through Tony's hair.

They lay together that way for a little while in comfortable silence.

Steve breaks it by announcing, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Okay.”

“You’re welcome t' join me.”

“Oh, well, there was never a scenario where I wasn’t. But it’s cute you offered like you had the option.”

Steve laughs like it’s his first time ever doing it and Tony, who has won countless academic and recreational awards, has never felt so accomplished than he does at that moment.

They wash up and cook a late breakfast.

Steve makes the pancakes and Tony, who was in charge of the eggs, burns said eggs which is okay because it almost balances out the overabundance of salt Tony had accidentally put in it. 

Steve insists its fine, making a show of scooping large forkfuls into his mouth while rubbing his stomach with exaggerated delight. It’s obvious that his husband is choking it down without complaint because he loves Tony too much to tell him what a shitty cooker he is.

And Tony? He sits there and he lets him, thinking about how much he loves this stubborn fool. It makes Tony want to buy him something so unnecessarily expensive that it nearly gives Steve a fit to see the price. 

.

.

.

“Let’s go to the main house and make Jungle Juice,” is Tony’s bright suggestion when they can’t come to a decision about what to do with the sparkly space rock after three hours of going back and forth over ideas. “I went to college online, so I missed out on that whole ‘frat party’ experience,” he clarifies when Steve sends him a confused look that morphs into something more amused and fond after Tony explains it.

“So ... you want to get wasted?” Steve says like he’s about to introduce some PSA about the dangers of underage drinking, and it’s nearly ironic that Steve is sitting backward in the dining room chair facing Tony with his arms folded casually over the top of it.

Tony’s too busy choking back tears while he laughs too hard, trying breathlessly to explain his sudden burst of amused hysterics but it’s nearly impossible.

Steve seems to get it anyway, grinning as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to make sure we’re on the same page. I ain’t judging you for it. What are we gonna do once we’re done in by our own concoction?”

The answer, as it turns out, as they raid the local Dollar Store after walking to the small strip mall on foot, is buy jumbo bubble wands and attempt to make soap bubble horses with the help of a few YouTube videos out on the beach behind the mansion, completely shitfaced as they sing, “ _At least we’ll always have Virginia!_ ”, a totally made up song they come up with on the spot. 

When they fumble their way through that, spilling the bubble liquid more on the sand than in the air, transformed into solid form, they end up having a sword fight with the jumbo bubble wands. They drunkenly recreate the fight scene in _Princess Bride_ between Inigo Montoya, played by Tony, and Wesley, played by Steve _._

After a while, they pack up to stumble back to the house, where they order three large homemade pizzas from the kitchens.

Tony actually bursts into tears of amazement as they eat the pizza poolside with their pants rolled up to their knees and their lower legs kicking gently in the water of the pool. He swears that he’s never tasted anything as spectacular as the pepperoni pizza he’s jamming into his mouth.

Steve does his best to comfort him while he laughs through his own mouthfuls at Tony’s dramatics, patting him on the back with his free hand consolingly. “Come on, Sweet Pea. Stop crying. You'll upset your stomach.”

Tony just swallows, hiccups, and jams more pizza in his mouth, weeping at how good it tastes because oh dear god, it’s an explosion of perfect bursts of flavor. He swears he’s never eaten anything so good, having never had pizza up until this point. 

Another thing he can add to the list of why he despises his parents. 

"How can a person be so evil, Steve? They kept  _pizza_ from me." Tony sobs some more.

"Aw, honey. Come on. Please stop crying. I'll buy you pizza every day for the rest of our lives. Just please stop crying."

Tony sobs harder and keeps stuffing his face.

When they’ve finished their food, and Tony’s still stuck in his downtrodden mood, Steve makes the wonderful suggestion that they go back to the Dollar Store to purchase water guns. They use said water guns during several intense rounds of indoor hide-and-seek.

It should be no surprise that Steve comes out the victor, being the literal tactical genius he is.

Anyway, Tony gets kissed within an inch of his life when he pouts about it and ends up feeling like the winner by the time Steve is cornering him into a random bedroom inside the main house to strip him of his clothes so he can ride Tony like a seesaw on a neatly made bed.

Well, it’s no longer neat by the time they’re through.

.

.

.

Tony’s not sure how they’ve ended up passed out in the jacuzzi tub of their old room with Tony spooning his water gun and Steve spooning _him_ but he feels like death warmed over as his phone vibrates with annoying persistence. He picks up and answers without looking because he just wants it to _stop fucking buzzing._

“ _You know, I’m pretty sure there’s a feature in the settings to make that happen,_ ” the voice says on the other side, endlessly amused.

It takes Tony a couple of minutes to realize it’s Dora. 

_“You still with me? Did I call at a bad time?”_

“Yeah. I mean, no. It’s just …” Tony takes a moment to look thoughtfully over his shoulder at Steve, who’s still conked out, lucky bastard. “... Steve and I had a wild yesterday.” He shakes his head and then winces when pain explodes behind his eyes. He yanks the hood of Steve’s hoodie over his head until it covers his eyes and blocks out the light. “What’s up, doc?”

_“I can’t tell if you’re being ironic or not, but nevertheless, I remember you mentioned you’re flying back to the city tonight. I was wondering if you’d let Eddie and I treat you to a little send-off dinner. My folks have already shipped out and returned to their little corner of the country in Los Angeles. Steve’s encouraged to join too, of course. Not sure what impression he’s made on my son but Eddie’s pressing for his presence as well. I’ve decided not to ask. I’m sure it has something to do with sports.”_

“You are right on the money with that one,” Tony mumbles as he takes a moment to try and think past his hangover. “Okay, we’ll be there.”

_“Yeah? Great! Eddie will be thrilled. Let’s have you two drop by … let’s say eight o’clock? Eight-thirty?”_

“That works. Can I bring anything?”

_“Don’t even stress over it, Tony. I’ve got us all covered so just bring yourselves and your appetites. I’ll see you both later - and! Drink coffee or tea. Get some carbohydrates in your system. Best remedy for hangovers.”_

“Thanks.”

_“Of course, what are friends for? I’d like to think I have my medical license for a reason.”_

Tony laughs and hates himself for it because it hurts to do so.

.

.

.

There’s really not much time to do anything else that Sunday morning after Tony bullies Steve awake so they can shower up, have their fill of a carb-enriched breakfast, and sleep the sleep of the dead until mid-afternoon. When they wake up, they barely have all the time they need to start their packing for their late-night flight before they have to rush and get dressed if they want to reach Dora’s in time for dinner. 

Dora and Eddie are in the middle of a heated battle of UNO when they arrive and they invite Tony and Steve into the mix of things until the roast has served its full sentence in the oven.

Tony, as it turns out, is very excellent at UNO once the mechanics are explained to him and, after losing the first few rounds, shows no pity, not even to his own husband.

“Well, if they ever decide to do another UNO World Championship, I’d nominate you to represent the United States of A,” Eddie remarks as Dora scuttles off to the kitchen after having claimed to have heard the timer go off.

Tony snorts. “Yeah, and when I win, I’ll have to negotiate with the President to change the A in USA to Anthony.”

Steve huffs and says, “She’ll never go for that.”

“Then what good is being the King of UNO?” Tony dryly complains. “All that power and you expect me to use it for good? Unrealistic.”

Eddie bursts out laughing as Steve rolls his blue eyes and shakes his head, but his side of the bond is exploding in fireworks of reddish pinks and pinkish reds.

_“Eddie!”_

“Ma?” Eddie yells back.

_“Come give me a hand, will you?”_

Eddie makes a face, pausing his third lap of shuffling the UNO deck. “Awe, Ma, c’mon, I’m in the middle of something here!”

_“Don’t get cute with me just because we have guests, Mr. Grumpy Pumpkin Pie. Come help me set the table or so help me!”_

“Ma!” Eddie shouts back, scandalized as he goes scarlet while the deck of cards in his suddenly slack hands flop into a mess on the floor. “I already told ya - you can’t call me that anymore! Ain’t right when I’m almost fourteen!” He marches off to the kitchen before she can, as he’s muttering it, ‘assassinate his character further with even more humiliating pet names’.

Steve chuckles and moves to clean up the mess on the floor without being asked or even acknowledging that he doesn’t even have to.

Tony smiles as he watches him, thinking about how he hopes their future kids pick up the same polite mannerisms and kindness Steve has about him. 

The doorbell rings.

“Hey, Dora, are you expecting company?” Tony yells towards the kitchen.

_“Not that I know of! Oh goodness, I hate to ask but do you mind grabbing that for me?”_

Tony verbally confirms it’s not an issue and he stands, leaving Steve to his organizing, and wanders to the front door. He freezes in shock at who he finds on the doorstep on the other side after he opens it.

It’s Queenpin, her Beta wife, Dr. Olivia Octavius (more famously known to the criminal underworld as Doc Ock), and a brown-skinned fellow with a smarmy smirk, who is holding a very expensive bottle of 1947 Château Cheval Blanc.

“You’re certainly not, Dora,” Mr. Smarmy Smirk remarks as his eyes drift over Tony from head to toe, head cocking consideringly. 

Tony has seen that look before. It only confirms his suspicions that this man is an Alpha like Queenpin. “No, I wouldn’t think so. Just a friend. Can I help you folks with something?” he asks, crossing his arms, ignoring the way Queenpin and her wife are eyeing him in amusement. 

“Oh, how rude. Allow me to introduce myself and my associates to put your mind at ease. My name is Carlton Drake,” Drake announces, his smirk twisting into something smugger as he notices the way Tony’s face clears with recognition. “And this is New York mayoral candidate Wilhemina Fisk and her wife, Olivia.”

“Doctor,” Octavius adds. “But a cute little O like you can call me Liv. All my friends do.”

Tony blanches. “Are we already friends?” he retorts but instead of offending the older woman, she seems rather charmed and amused instead.

Queenpin, a hulking mass of a woman, just stands silently beside her wife as she silently examines Tony like she certainly recognizes him and Tony tries not to squirm or give away how much he hates the Alpha’s guts. 

The more Tony looked at her unsightly face, the more he realized that she looked like a child of giants - all broad shoulders with a hooked nose that made the width of her frame even more intimidating.

“Well we, likewise, are good friends of Dora,” Drake interjects, dark eyes staring into Tony’s eyes with an unreadable expression that sends chills down Tony’s spine. “I must say … you look very familiar to me. Are we previously acquainted?”

“I’m sure you’d be more memorable to me if so,” Tony stiffly responds. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll go and get Dr. Skirth.” He shuts the door in all three of their smug faces before they can get a word in edgewise. He finds himself storming to the kitchen to locate Dora and finds her carving the roast neatly at the island counter while Eddie continues to set the table off to the side in the dining room. “Better add three more, kid,” he suggests dryly.

Dora shoots him a look of confusion. “Who was at the door?” she asks.

“Your _friends,_ ” Tony snaps before he can even help it. “If I’d known you kept company with the likes of Queenpin, I would have maybe been able to advise against _our_ friendship. I mean, Jesus, Dora. You know she’s a crooked mobster that murders anyone who opposes her? Tell me you know that.”

Steve and Eddie both enter the kitchen, likely to see what all the commotion is about.

Dora is suddenly pale, looking sick to her stomach, which gives Tony pause. “They - he’s here - Drake is here?” she stammers looking a little frantic. She swallows and quickly composes herself. “Ah, Eddie, sweetie. Would you mind showing Steve that horrible velvet painting of the dogs playing poker your grandparents bought from the flea market the other day?”

“But Ma, what -”

“Eddie.” Dora gives him a warning look. “Please.”

Eddie’s chin wobbles rebelliously for a moment before he sighs and leaves it alone. “C’mon, Steve. Let me unnecessarily show you this piece of crap painting my Ma and I made fun of for four hours straight after Gams and Pop-Pop brought it here, just so your husband and my Ma can talk in private.”

Dora shoots an exasperated look to the back of her son’s head as he exits the kitchen with a heavily amused Steve in tow.

Tony crosses his arms and waits.

Dora fidgets as she straightens her clothes in an anxious and preoccupied manner. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to go over my history, so I’ll get straight to the point. Eddie’s father was an investigative journalist, took all the jobs no one wanted to look into, wanted to blow the whistle on the most crooked kind of people. And he was good. Dangerously good. He used to say that when you're good at pointing fingers at the bad guys and making their shit stick, you earn yourself a red bull’s eye on your back. Drake was the last person he was running leads on before he died. And … when he died … all that information he was gathering, all that time he spent, blew right back up in his face. 

“I knew what he did. I understood the risks. I never tried to stop him or stand in his way, even when it meant backlash because Ed was a good guy. He was a good one, Tony. He was a lone star in a corrupt world where money and greed reigned supreme and I _believed_ in him, even when my parents insisted I was making a mistake by settling for some, as they used to phrase it, ‘gutter scum’ like Ed. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve long since apologized after Eddie was born and took their heads out of their asses. But my point is that he went after Drake unofficially. So unofficially that not even his boss or his coworkers knew.

“It was only knowledge to me because he promised he would always be honest about his job, and outside of me, he had this contact that was going to help him expose Drake. But because of that, because it was all unofficial, Drake had a case against us. Do you understand? After Ed died, it was just me, and I had to be the one to field that lawsuit, and you know what would have happened? They would have taken Ed’s life insurance, all of it, every last dime. I would have been left with nothing, and they would have stripped me of my Agency. With no Agency, they would have put me back in the system, they would have given Eddie over to the state and I would have lost him.

“We’re Omegas, Tony. What choice do we have in this world to protect the things most precious to us? Drake struck me a deal: I sign an NDA with a clause that says I won’t pursue the cause of my husband’s death, come to work for the Life Foundation on a Thirty-Year Contract, and I regain access and ownership to my own Agency indefinitely. So what do you think I did? You look me in the eye and tell me you would have done differently if you were in my position. I’m _indebted_ to Drake, for Eddie’s sake, for my own. An Omega with no Agency has no value and worth even far less. You’re not even a person anymore. I could be raped, beaten, tortured, and killed, and no one would pay the price for any of it. I couldn’t demand retribution, or seek justice because I would have no grounds to pursue. Without Agency, we’re just walking suicides.”

Tony hands her a nearby box of tissues and she fights to compose herself again, straightening the line of her shoulders so she can stick her chin out in dignity. Then all at once, he feels nothing but sympathy and admiration. It takes guts to make that kind of sacrifice, even for the sake of your own child. He can’t imagine what Dora must be going through, forced to give thirty years of her life to her husband’s murderer. He feels guilty that he was halfway to ripping her a new one only moments ago.

“Dora …”

“Don’t. It’s okay, Tony. You didn’t know,” Dora insists as she cleans her face. “I promise this is the first time Drake’s ever made a house call like this. I wasn’t expecting him. Something must be going wrong back at the labs. I’m head of the Bio-Engineering Division at the Life Foundation. I put in my notice for vacation. He _knows_ I’m on vacation. God.”

“I’m staying,” Tony decides because like hell was he going to leave sweethearts like Dora and Eddie to fend for themselves amongst a trio of uninvited, presumptuously corrupt sharks. 

“No, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Dora immediately protests like he knew she would. “We’ll do something together when Eddie and I are back in the city. You and Steve are good to clear out. I wouldn’t make you stay and deal with my drama.”

“And why not?” Tony retorts snidely, crossing his arms again with an unimpressed look. “You’ve been dealing with ours since day one. Like you said, what are friends for? I’m staying.”

Dora gives a watery laugh and urges Tony over for a hug.

Tony delivers, albeit stiffly, given that he’s only ever this affectionate with Steve. It’s new but it’s not awful. Actually yeah, this is pretty nice. He tightens his arms around Dora as she does the same, only separating when the doorbell is pressed quite insistently.

Dora pulls away completely with a sigh, giving Tony a tired and sad smile to say, “Let’s get this over with.”

.

.

.

The seating arrangement goes something like this:

Carlton Drake makes himself at home in the dining room by sitting at the head of the table with Dora to his left and Eddie, who is glaring venomously at the smarmy Alpha, sits to his right. Tony sits next to Eddie with Steve to his right. And opposite them is Queenpin, to Dora’s left, and Octavius to Queenpin's right.

Dinner is … a tense affair … to say the least.

Drake and his companions pretend not to notice as the food gets passed around. He looks at Tony and Steve, smirk widening. “I don’t believe I caught your names,” he says and looks to Dora.

Dora grabs the bowl of biscuits and says, “Mr. Drake, this is my good friend, Tony and his husband, Steve.”

“Tony and Steve don’t have last names?” Drake presses as he grabs the bowl of sweet corn.

“Rogers,” Steve answers evenly as he grabbed the pitcher of iced tea and pours Tony, and then himself a glass. 

“Rogers,” Drake echoes as he flicks his gaze over Steve before he huffs dismissively like the smaller Alpha isn’t worth his time. He directs a covetous look at Tony. “You’re Howard’s son,” he states rather than asks. 

“Yes,” Tony replies shortly as he cuts into his food. He’s not even hungry anymore, he doubts any of them are. They’re all just playing pretend.

“Well, this is rather embarrassing,” Drake remarks, looking anything but. “I don’t suppose he ever mentioned the offer I made for you years ago when you came of age. I've always been quite impressed with your tutelage. Howard turned me down, of course. He made a dig at my _background_ , though he’s not the first to take one look at my skin and decide where my place should be, no matter that I’m one of the wealthiest people on the planet. Funny, the way the world works.”

“My father isn’t the kind of Alpha who would discuss his Omega son’s prospects with him as if there was a choice in the matter,” Tony replies bluntly as Eddie gives a sympathetic snort at that. 

“But in the end, it seems you _did_ have a choice in the matter,” Drake callously points out with a not so subtle nod to Steve, who is sitting stiffy beside Tony, his side of the bond writhing in agitated ivory whites and possessive apple greens.

Tony opens his mouth to chew him out for that but Dora quickly intercepts by saying, “Pardon my need to be blunt, Mr. Drake, but I don’t think you came all this way to see me to discuss your history with Tony or his marriage. Is there something wrong?”

“I must say, this all rather good,” Drake replies instead, indicating to his food. “What is it?”

“It’s, uh, pot roast,” Dora replies tensely, fidgeting with her napkin from where it rests across her lap. “I lined it with prosciutto and sage, marinated it in wine, oil, and saltwater.”

“It’s exquisite, Dora,” Drake remarks primly between bites. “And I was simply in the neighborhood. I was bragging, you see, to Wilhemina and Liv, about what a great leader you are in your department, how _vital_ your research and contributions are to the continued survival of each project, to the continued survival of the planet. Though, I haven’t come to talk about work. Instead, I’d much rather report back to your team what a wonderful time you’re having out here on a well-earned vacation, just you and your son.”

There’s an underlying meaning there, a double-edged message that Tony can’t quite get a grasp of. A few misleading words from an Alpha like Drake or Howard could always be a test in disguise. Such an unsavory habit most Alphas seemed to carry and loved to utilize when addressing Omegas they felt entitled to.

By the way Dora’s movements and behavior become more and more robotic, the more Tony’s convinced she understands well enough. She says, “Only a week left out here, but that’s the thing with vacation. Time flies. I’ll be back before any of us can blink, I’m sure.”

“Good,” Drake murmurs between bites. “I’d hate for you to lose sight of what’s important. Speaking of, I heard you had lunch the other day with a recruiter from Oscorp. How was that?”

Dora’s face becomes nearly green, and her eyes widen with a sort of caught look. “Oh that … that was just something small. I didn’t - there wasn’t anything special about that. He’s a fellow alumnus of mine, and we just happened to run into each other then and there, dining at the same place. We were - he wanted to catch up.”

“I see.” Drake wipes his mouth clean. “If that’s the case. I think we’ve imposed enough. Have a good night.” He nods at Queenpin and Octavius, the three of them rising from the table without much ceremony. As he passes Eddie, he ruffles his hair and drops a 'Vote for Fisk' button in his lap like a gift before he tosses a wink to Tony and smirks at Steve as he makes his exit. 

The room is suddenly swamped with a heavy silence.

Then Eddie breaks it by swinging the campaign button towards the trash in the kitchen while saying, “Ma, excuse my language, but what the shit was that? What’s that scumbag doing making house calls while we’re on vacation?”

“It was nothing, sweetie,” Dora assures tiredly. “He’s an attentive boss.”

“ _No._ The guy’s a psychopath!” Eddie exclaims loudly. “How’d he know where we were or what you’ve been up to? Is he having us followed? Ma, you’ve gotta press charges or talk to HR or _something_.”

“You’re too young to understand,” Dora replies sternly.

“Oh, I understand perfectly well what it looks like when someone is getting leaned on. If dad were alive, he’d never stand for this! He’d stand up for himself and he’d want you to do the same!”

“Drop it,” Dora warns. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes! Yes, I do! I am completely aware of the fact that the piece of human garbage you had at our table is the guy responsible for dad’s murder, and that big dumpster truck of a woman named _Queenpin_ is who helped frame a sector of the Russian mob that was opposing her on dad's murder. And you let them break bread with us. And for what? A steady paycheck? You’re a coward.”

“Eddie, go to your room!” Dora snaps, looking at the end of her rope.

Eddie glares mutinously before he roughly shoves away from the table, storming off in a fit.

Tony waits until he hears the unmistakable slam of a door before he says, “He doesn’t know, does he? About your agreement with Drake.”

Dora wordlessly shakes her head. “How can I put that on him when I can barely live it with myself? How could I?” She stares at the expensive bottle of wine that Drake purposefully left behind like some sort of cryptic reminder of his power and wealth. “How could I?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer for her. “You know he has a podcast about people like Drake, right?”

Dora nods. “He’s … god, he’s every bit his father. Stubborn, determined - righteous.” She turns sad, cow eyes on Steve and Tony, as though willing them to understand why she hasn’t intervened. “You tell me if you think he’d stop if I asked him. If I tried to force him. Tell me if you think he wouldn’t find some way to keep going. Ed had millions of doors slammed in his face in his line of work but he never let anyone’s ‘no’ stop him. It’s genetic, I think, that strong sense of conviction Eddie has. I wish I could be better that way.”

“Don’t put it all on yourself,” Steve insists, holding her gaze. “World’s not really much of a fair place, and every once in a while, a good person has to pay the price for it. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying to do the best you can for yourself, and for others. You love Eddie, and you’re trying to do right by him. Sometimes that means you’ve got to crawl through all the muck and dirt to get that, and you’re doing it with your head held high. I think your husband would’ve been proud.”

Silent tears are streaming down Dora’s face. “Thank you,” she whispers, voice wobbly with emotion but she also looks like she believes Steve wholeheartedly. “Thank you.”

Tony reaches across the table and places a hand over hers. “Anything you need, you can call us. Anything,” he swears.

Dora sniffs with a watery smile. “Same here. I promise not to be a stranger once we’re all in the city again.”

“Good,” Steve affirms with a smile. “Now, how about we help you clean up and get out of your hair so you can make up with your son?”

.

.

.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Steve asks once he gets over his initial nervousness as they sit side by side on a plane headed back to New York.

Tony has the window seat this time, and he’d been staring out it morosely ever since they’ve taken off. Now in the sky, hovering over the clouds amongst the stars and a huge moon, Tony can’t help but rethink parenthood. He says, “Do you think it’s always that hard? Being a parent.”

Steve’s gaze gets clouded as he looks at Tony thoughtfully for a moment after the Omega turns away from the window to look at him. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think I can know until I am one. I think maybe there are times as a parent when you realize that your job is not to be the parent you always imagined you'd be, the parent you always wished you had. Your job is to be the parent your child needs, given the particulars of his or her own life and nature.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, taking that in and accepting it at face value. “I think I always imagined being exactly what I wanted growing up. But I don’t … I don’t think out little sequels are going to need that. Because you and I? We’re going to love them better than my parents did with me, and they’ll never know sadness.”

“If we can help it,” Steve gently corrects. “We can’t shelter them. It’d do them no good. We’re better off preparing them for both the best and the worst. Give them all that they need to navigate.”

Tony nods and, deciding it’s dark enough, laces his fingers with Steve’s, smiling when the connection is met with a comforting squeeze. “So, you should know that Gwen and Miles think they have a lead on tracking down Spider-Man,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, there’s this guy, Luke Cage, and word on the street is that he’s been spotted with Spider-Man a number of times. He’s got a boxing club in Hell’s Kitchen. The three of us are gonna corner him this Saturday.”

“Corner?”

“Talk. I totally mean talk.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Always,” Tony jokes with a cheeky grin that Steve laughs at him for. “Also I told them about the stone, and we agreed our best bet is to hand it over to our favorite web-slinging superhero.”

“Reasonable,” Steve supposes with a considering nod. “At the very least, he might have a better idea of what to do with it, or do about it.”

“Exactly,” Tony agrees, bopping his husband on the nose with his index finger. “I knew you’d understand.”

“I try my best to keep up with you.”

Tony rolls his eyes fondly. Then he sobers and finds the bravery he needs to say, “I’m going to ask for my Agency.”

Steve blinks in surprise and Tony’s not sure if it’s because he’s changing topics or because of what the topic is about itself. “You - what?”

“When we follow up Coulson and Romanov. I’m going to negotiate for my Agency.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s - I’m behind that. If that’s what you want.”

“I really do.”

“Go for it.”

Silence.

Then, Tony says, “You think Little Ben is okay down there in the cargo hold? I hate that I had to put him in one of our checked bags, but there’s no way they would have let us through airport security with him.”

“No, yeah, it was a good call, sweetheart. We watched him power down before you stashed him away. He’s probably not even aware of what’s happening.”

“Right.”

“Tony, honey, he’s fine.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs but stops trying to change Tony’s mind when the Omega keeps fidgeting anxiously.

It’s quite possibly the longest flight Tony has ever been on.

.

.

.

When they return to their brick apartment complex, all of their things are sitting outside of the apartment door, as well as every other tenant in the building. There’s a huge commotion of rather tearful and stricken murmuring on every floor.

“Mr. Wolfcott, what’s going on?” Steve asks their neighbor from across the way when he and Tony put their bags down in confusion.

“Haven’t you heard? Building’s been bought out. These men came in vans, rapped their meaty knuckles on each door or busted them down when there was no response. Started dragging people and their things out, saying we’re trespassing. Oh, Steve, it’s terrible. Where am I supposed to go? My grandkids live all the way out in Montona. I couldn’t possibly burden them with this.”

“Bought out? What do you mean bought out? Someone bought the building?”

“The whole district,” Mr. Wolcott corrects with a grave expression. “For whatever reason, we’re the only building that’s suffering for it. New owner must got a grudge for one of us. Listen, I’ve got to go make arrangments. I suggest you young gentlemen do the same. No one can find Mr. Arkowski to fight this. Cops are gonna come tell us we need to scram soon, since, apparently we’re trespassing on private property now, and none of us have signed leases to fight it. They're gonna demolish the entire building!”

Steve’s jaw locks as he gives the grey-haired man a short nod.

“Steve?” Tony’s not sure what’s going on but he has a bad feeling that it has something to do with Howard or Obadiah if not both. “Steve, what are we going to do?”

“I …” Steve sits down on top of his luggage. “I really don’t know. I didn’t - wasn’t expecting this.”

Tony’s never seen him look so out of sorts. It’s breaking his heart and makes him worried that Steve is beginning to look at the checks and balances of their marriage currently. His chest tightens with anxiety and doubt. Don’t even get him started on the guilt. He’s literally responsible for the eviction of over a dozen unsuspecting people.

Suddenly, Steve seems to shake off his shock and squares his shoulders before standing. “I’m gonna call Ma. She won’t mind putting us up while we get this sorted. You think you can call Riley and tell him what happened to see if maybe he can look into this, or if we can fight it or use it in our case somehow?”

“Of course,” Tony immediately agrees. He blinks in surprise when Steve pulls him to a kiss that lasts less than six seconds. “Uh?”

“Your folks probably want us to be at odds with each other over this, as well as distraught, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction. Are you? Look at me, Tony. It's okay. Nothing will ever make me stop loving you with everything in me. I’m yours. I’m always yours. Same team, right?”

“Same team,” Tony echoes brokenly, blinking quickly past the sudden build-up of tears. He doesn’t fight Steve when the Alpha reels him in for a hug. At first he thinks Steve is trying to comfort him but by the way Steve hides his face in the side of his neck, Tony realizes that he’s actually _seeking_ comfort. “I love you so fucking much, Steve,” he mutters, swearing on it, just in case it needs to be said, needs to be heard. “I’m yours too. You know I’m yours, Alpha.”

Steve nods, squeezing him one last time before he lets him go, wiping at his eyes in a vulnerable way that breaks Tony’s heart to pieces and makes his blood boil at the thought of what Howard and Obadiah are putting him though, putting _them_ through.

“Come on,” Tony nudges Steve gently. “We’ve got some calls to make.”

Steve nods.

Together they kick into high gear and get whatever needs doing done, knowing they have each other’s backs - that they’ll always have each other’s back.

Come what may.


	21. YEAR 1: PART V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - okay yeah none of those posting schedules were working for a free-spirited wild card like me so i've decided to just follow my gut and heart from now on and post updates according to that ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway, buckle up ya'll cause we got a bumpy road ahead
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> also, i have heard your feedback about sarah's accent and have taken it into serious consideration as you will come to learn presently - lmk of any other suggestions or questions/concerns you can think of, i try to keep an open mind

_“Take as many pictures as you can,”_ is Riley’s advice, his tone soft and professional with an edge of compassion and concern. He had answered almost immediately when Tony called him from the curb of the just outside of the soon to be demolished brick complex. He’s watching everyone scramble to get their things with tearful eyes and wobbly chins as the demolition crew slowly filter in out in the streets. God, this was really happening. _“I’ll look into some contacts out that way in the meantime to figure out our legal recourse. Do not talk to your parents or Mr. Stane without me in attendance. And Steve can be a bit of a hothead, so remind him not to go off and do something heroic.”_

“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Tony promises, doing just that currently as he watched his husband and his mother-in-law carry all their furniture and possessions to the moving truck Sarah was able to acquire from a local friend on the way over. The two Alphas insisted Tony not lift a finger, that he should keep his mind on the ensuing difficult conversation with Riley. He wonders, amusedly, if this pattern will continue once they’re all under one roof together. “Listen, thank you for going through all this trouble for us. I'm sorry for waking you up to such bad news. I’m sure you have easier clients to deal with.”

_“Easier? Maybe. But none I have a personal stake with. And besides, you and Steve are important to Sam, which makes you just as important to me. If I can’t use the credentials I earned from Yale on the people that matter, then what’s the point?”_

Tony smiles, comforted, even though he knows the Beta man won't be able to see. “Well, I really can’t thank you enough,” he swears.

 _“You’re doing just fine already. Try not to let this pin you down, and give Steve and Sarah my best,”_ Riley says.

Tony agrees and they end the conversation there and then he spends the next half hour taking pictures like Riley instructed, stopping when he deems what he has a good enough amount while ignoring the incredulous or curious looks of his fellow ex-neighbors. Just in time it seems because Steve and Sarah have loaded the last of everything onto the rental van. He wanders over when beckoned by Steve and they all climb in the front as Sarah places herself behind the wheel. 

Steve falls asleep on Tony’s shoulder during the ride to his childhood home while Tony and Sarah shoot the breeze, mostly about Tony’s unexpected vacation, and newfound friendship with Dora and her son, and even Little Ben (who Sarah seems keen to meet).

After a while, as the highway lights roll over them while Sarah carefully changes lanes to the route that will ultimately lead to the exit of Steve's hometown, Tony says, “Sarah, I - I’m sorry if -”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Sarah playfully interjects, patting him on the top of the head before she returns that hand to the steering wheel. “Steve’s sure of you, and so that makes me more so. You’re family. My boy and I would brave anything for you. Know that.”

Tony can feel the heat build behind his eyes but he’s quick to blink it away and press the raw feelings down, too embarrassed to let himself be vulnerable in that way in front of her. “Thank you,” he says, brokenly, flushing at how shaky his voice is. 

“Of course.” Sarah waits until she takes the appropriate exit for Brooklyn Heights and she rolls up to a red light. “Awful bullies, your folks. Such a tantrum to throw over true love.”

Tony can feel his blush deepen. “True love?” he echoes quietly, careful not to disturb or jostle Steve, who is still slumbering peacefully with his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“Aye.” Sarah looks beside herself with amusement as she keeps her eyes on the road ahead as the light turns green. “True love is like ghosts, which everyone talks about but few have seen. You’re meant for Steve, and he for you. Bet you feel it in your bones, don’t you?”

Tony couldn’t possibly say no because he does. His love for Steve is always there, under his skin, stuck to the marrow of his bones. He couldn’t really even describe how he feels about Steve, no matter the language, and he’d probably choke trying to manifest the right words for it. “It’s true love,” he agrees, feeling silly for even saying it, let alone to his mother-in-law. He feels kind of like a child.

But Sarah smiles at him and doesn't scold him for it as she pulls into the driveway of the decades-old house with darkened windows. The twinkle in her ocean blue eyes is all warmth and understanding. “Almost insulting to have to term it that way, yeah? No tongue on Earth has gotten it right, but true love comes closest. That we can agree on,” she decides and shuts off the engine.

“Yeah,” Tony says quietly, feeling whimsical.

Sarah glances at Steve with such pride before she gives Tony a teasing smirk, lifting a finger to her lips. Then she lays in on the truck horn, shouting that they’ve arrived just to get Steve to jump, and clutch a hand to his heaving chest.

“Ma!” Steve complains with an exasperated glare. “You tryin’ to put me in the ground? Christ.”

“Oh, would you look at that? I didnae know that’s what that did. Silly me. What a naughty machine this is, waking my wee boy like that.”

"What bold face lie that is." Steve continues to give her a sleepy-eyed frown. “Think the patron saint of truth is probably dry heaving as we speak.”

Sarah’s bubbly, gut-deep laughter fills the inside of the truck with such liveliness.

Tony finds it infectious and can’t help but crack the smallest smile.

When Sarah calms, she says, “Come on then. I’ve rehabbed the basement for occasions just like this, so you’ll have your own corner, and bathroom too. Figured it’d make do, you know, to afford you the privacy you need.”

“That’s great, Ma. Thanks.”

Sarah waves him off with a cheerful smile as they all climb out of the truck together. She unlocks the door and urges them in, turning on enough lights so they can see each other before continuing the march to the basement door, which is just off the corner from the kitchen and across from the pantry. 

Steve flips on the switch to the light hanging above the basement steps, insisting Tony and Sarah go ahead of him.

The stairs creak under their feet but seem sturdy enough, and Sarah stops before a freshly painted white door, which she opens to reveal a large master bedroom that takes up most of the square feet for the basement.

The bedroom isn’t furnished but all the details of shiny wood floorboards, an overabundance of clear hopper windows with blackout curtains, and the mural on the back wall, a tree with every color of fall leaf imaginable, is full of more warmth than Tony had ever seen in a room in many years. 

“Whoa, Ma. When did you get the time t' do all this? And why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks as he walks around, taking in everything with that artistic gleam in his eye.

“Never you mind,” Sarah laughs, putting her hands on her hips proudly as she stood taller than the door frame. “Now, what do we think?”

“This is amazing,” Tony says, walking the length of the bathroom, which has a newly refurbished walk-in shower, double sink, and gleaming toilet. “You did this all yourself?”

“Aye.” 

Tony is speechless by the talent of it, circling back to the mural of the tree. “Guess this is genetic, huh?” he murmurs to Steve, who’s still standing there, eyeing it as though it were the featured painting of an art gallery.

“Oh, she didn’t do this mural,” Steve replies distractedly. “I did. Years back. High School. Had the chickenpox. What kinda person gets the chickenpox when they’re sixteen? Me, that’s who. It put me out for weeks. Anyway, I got stir crazy. I came down here and just went to town. Ma yelled at me for hours.”

“Oh, pull the other!” Sarah bellows from the doorway, careful not to step in and Tony realizes she’s trying to respect the space as if it were already Steve’s territory. “Five minutes, Tony. Yelled at this one for five minutes, only that he didnae ask first, not that he’d done it. Cried for the next thirty at how beautiful it was. Couldn’t bring myself to paint over it in the end when I came back down to do what needed to be done.”

Steve smiles to himself as he continues to look at the mural whimsically and it makes Tony feel all sorts of things to see how supportive and proud Sarah is of Steve and all that he’s capable of. Then Steve turns to face Sarah. “It’s great, Ma. Really. Thank you. I’m sure we can figure out how much to pay you for -”

“No,” Sarah quickly interjects, jaw set, eyes gleaming stubbornly in a way that is so much like an echo of how Steve does it that it’s scary. “You best not be talking rent, because I won’t hear it. Just have dinner with me or keep me company on the occasion. I’ll not ask for anything more than that.”

Steve snickers. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. Thought I’d offer anyway.”

“Raised you a little too well,” Sarah grumbles before pushing away from the doorframe. “Well, let’s sort out your things come morning. These old bones are off to bed. You two best be settling down as well. Goodnight.” And with that, she’s gone.

“Well,” Steve sighs, breaking the comfortable silence that Sarah left behind. “I’m beat." Then he pauses like something's just occurred to him. "Hey, you’ve got to work in a couple of hours, right?” 

Tony nods because technically, today is supposed to be his first official day with Happy. “Should I call off, you know, given the circumstances?” 

Steve makes a thoughtful sound but shakes his head. “Nah. I’ve got nowhere to be until Tuesday, so I can stay behind and make sure our things make it down here in one piece. Why don’t you go ahead to my old bedroom, since it seems we’ll be sleeping there tonight. I’ll grab some of our bags so you can at least have what you need in the morning.”

“If you’re sure,” Tony says, following him out and stopping at the bottom of the stairs when Steve pauses to take advantage of the height difference to sweep him up into a toe-curling kiss.

“Positive, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs against Tony’s lips, making the Omega break out in goosebumps. “Go warm up the bed for me. I’ll be there before you know it.”

Tony nods dumbly, watching Steve turn away and continue on like he didn’t just shortcircuit Tony’s brain a second ago. Eventually, Tony is able to get ahold of himself and travel the rest of the way up the steps, closing the door behind him before traveling to Steve’s old bedroom. He kicks off his socks and shoes before burying himself in the sheets of the small twin bed, thinking it’ll be a wonder if both of them can manage to fit comfortably on it. 

He’s nearly dozing off, nose buried in Steve’s old pillow, the faintest hint of him there, his forehead pressed into the wall that the twin bed is pushed against when Steve enters quietly. He sighs when arms loop around his waist and Steve presses a quick kiss to the side of his neck before settling down where he’s spooning Tony from behind.

“Love you,” Steve whispers and repeats it again in French, obviously under the assumption that Tony is fast asleep.

Tony grins to himself and doesn’t correct him.

.

.

.

Tony, like a true dumbass, forgets to set an alarm and is nearly an hour and a half late to work; the extra thirty minutes is because he had to stop at a local coffee shop for the strongest pressed mix they had because he was still slightly catatonic when Steve walked him to the bus stop and talked him through which service routes to take. 

Honestly, the caffeine still doesn’t set in by the time he’s blinking at the ‘CLOSED’ sign posted in the store window. He’s naturally confused.

“Hey, kid!”

Tony blinks and looks up at where Happy has half of his body stuck out of the second-floor window.

“Guess you didn’t get my message. Here, I’ll buzz you up. Come around the side to the gated door.”

Five minutes later finds Tony sitting in Happy’s cluttered living room, eating some freshly made pancakes and bacon.

Happy doesn’t say much while they eat, which seems to be intentional, because it’s not until he’s taking both of their plates to the kitchen and coming back to settle in the lumpy couch across from Tony to say, “IRS is up my ass about taxes and business expenses. Can you believe I’m being audited?”

Tony has a sinking feeling about that, which is why he asks, “When did it happen?”

Happy shrugs. “Week ago. Some clowns showed up out of the blue, raided my office and took all the ledgers I kept for finances and such. Started talking about some tip they got from someone or another about how I’m hiring under the table.”

“I lost my Agency,” Tony confesses suddenly, face going red with shame. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t think it’d be a problem. I’m so sorry.”

Happy’s brow furrows. “Nothing to apologize for, kid. Happens. I get how the world works. My wife was an Omega. Our daughters were too.” His expression becomes tightly pinched with grief. “Listen, Tony, I don’t want you worrying about it, okay? Not my first rodeo tangling with those monkeys in suits. Probably won't be the last. I’m just sorry I ain’t much use to you now that I’m being investigated. I’m told it could take months before they let me open my store again.”

Tony wants to cry desperately. “I’m sorry.”

“I'll be fine. I've got money stashed away for such an occasion as this. I really don't blame you for any of this. Not your fault.”

“It is!” Tony snaps and stands suddenly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He flees, ignoring when the older man calls after him while he runs out, galloping down the steps and out into the alleyway again. His chest is heaving with great big sobs he can’t manage to contain, even as he desperately waves down a cab. 

The cab driver seems alarmed by the state of him but thankfully doesn’t question it as Tony stammers out Sarah’s address. 

The tears keep coming and they don’t stop.

.

.

.

 _“Honey, tell me what’s wrong,”_ Steve begs from the other side of the bathroom door. 

Tony’s curled up on the floor with his back to the door, knees folded to his chest as he hugs his legs to him and weeps with his forehead pressed to the top of his knees. He’d stumbled out of the cab, hurling money at the driver as he tried to dash past Sarah and Steve, who were in the middle of carrying some of Steve’s furniture in.

Both of them had been alarmed to see Tony in such a state, but only Steve had tried to run after him as Tony tore through the house to the downstairs bathroom in their bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him to keep Steve out.

For a while, Steve has stood outside of it, doing his best to calm Tony down and comfort him with the door between them, shifting anxiously when Tony refused to let him in.

_“Sweetheart, please. I’m about sixty seconds from tracking Mr. Hogan down and knocking him sideways for sending you home like this. What happened?”_

Tony hiccups, eyes feeling swollen, face wet with tears and snot. “No,” he finally replies, voice cracking slightly. 

Steve sighs audibly in relief at finally getting the Omega to respond. _“Can I come in?”_

“No.”

 _“Really breaking my heart here, Sweet Pea. What good am I if I can’t help you when you need it?”_ Steve wouldn’t leave. He _won’t_ leave - a fact Steve has proven for the past two hours that Tony has barricaded himself in the bathroom. He’s stubborn, and if Tony wasn’t in such a foul mood, he would have found it charmingly admirable.

Right now he just finds it grating.

Tony makes a frustrated sound, and stands, accepting that he’s going to have to face his husband. He wanders over to the sink and washes his face. He stares at his reflection before turning away, sickened by the vulnerability he sees. He walks to the door and opens it.

Steve is on him in a second, turning him this way and that way, looking him over like he’s searching for mortal wounds.

Tony scowls shakily and brushes him off. “He’s being _audited,_  Steve,” he says.

“Mr. Hogan?”

Tony nods and quickly blinks past a fresh set of tears that try and build up. “Because of me. Because of his connection to me. I lost my job.” Then he laughs bitterly. “Actually, you know, come to think of it, I would have had to have _had_ it in the first place. Or at least been there long enough to have it qualify as a loss. Fuck.” He laughs again and then gasps against a sob that tries to punch it's way out of his chest. “ _Fuck._ ”

Steve reels him in and rubs a hand up and down Tony’s trembling back. “It’s not you, Tony. We both know it’s not you. See, this is what they want. They want you to feel bad. Not saying it’s wrong if you do, but, you’ve gotta know it’s not on you how horrible your folks and your godfather wanna be. They’re bitter because you’re not giving in.”

“How much further are they willing to take this? I don’t want to give up and it scares me because how long will it last until I do?” Tony admits with transparent guilt. “I want them all to die. I want them to _die._ Jesus. I - I really mean it too. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m not as good as you think.” He sobs into Steve’s shoulder.

“Yes you are, and wanting your abusers dead doesn’t make you a bad person. Believe me, I understand. I can count on six hands the countless times I have fantasized about their demise as well. You and I both don’t want to see anyone else get hurt by the things they can do when they want to throw a tantrum. But that’s all this is. A goddamn tantrum. We’ll weather it together. You’ve got me and I got you. Always.”

“Always,” Tony swears through a hiccup. He sighs when Steve presses their foreheads together and for a while, all they do is stay like that with their eyes closed, breathing each other in. 

Eventually, Steve lifts his head to plant a gentle kiss between Tony’s furrowed brow, before cradling his jaw and angling his head up a little more. “M’sorry you’re having a tough time. I’m here for you though. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks. I just - I think I’m gonna take a depression nap now,” Tony mumbles, feeling a grudging smile grow centimeter by centimeter when Steve rubs their noses together affectionately. “You wanna join me?”

Steve laughs fondly, pulling back. “Yes. I will take a depression nap with you, and we can curl up all sad together.”

Tony hums. “Yeah. Just two sad bitches on a bed.”

Steve laughs and playfully knocks a loose fist against Tony’s jaw just to get the Omega to grin sadly. “Sure. Sounds nice. You gotta promise that we’ll wake up happy though.”

“You want me to not only wake up but to be happy about it? At the same time? God, Rogers. The mountains you ask me to climb.”

Steve rolls his eyes fondly, pulling him towards the bed.

When they’re curled up in it together under a flat tent of sheets and blankets, the windows cracked open to the commotion of the neighborhood (feet moving on the pavement, passing cars, children screaming, sprinklers and lawnmowers, etc.), Tony drifts peacefully as Steve scent marks him with gentle caresses and affectionate squeezes.

Steve whispers into the crown of Tony’s hair, “Wanna hear one of my favorite quotes to think about during tough times? It’s by a famous Japenese writer: Haruki Murakami. I think it applies to us.”

“Mhm,” Tony mumbles sleepily and swears he can feel the stretch of Steve’s besotted smile against his scalp.

Steve continues in a low, soothing voice, “ _And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about._ ”

.

.

.

They take Sarah out for a belated Father’s Day lunch, just like they’d planned, and Tony feels less strangled by his woes by watching Sarah get all teary-eyed over the Beatles themed cookbook that Steve and Tony present her with, along with a signed card that has the picture of an orange kitten in a ballerina costume on the face of it. 

Steve had to explain that one to Tony when they stopped by the store at the airport to get it on the way back to New York because Tony hadn’t really been familiar with the concept of giving cards for special occasions. Even now, as he watches Sarah chortle over the song that blasts, once the card cracked open, ‘What’s New Pussycat’, he doesn't quite understand this ritual. But he thinks that maybe all he needs to understand is that it makes Sarah happy, and that’s good enough for him.

“Oh, you both are such darlings,” Sarah sighs with such wistful affection, standing up and planting kisses on their cheeks before Tony can even realize it’s happening.

Steve’s smile widens proudly but Tony blushes shyly at the bold display of public affection, so choked up about how warm it makes him feel that he needs a few minutes to internally recalibrate. He ducks behind a menu, under the guise of looking at the options, and blushes harder when Steve rests a comforting hand on his thigh with a quick pat that says, ‘Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.’ and Tony returns it with a timid nod.

Sarah either doesn’t notice or is being nice enough not to call attention to it as she cruises her gaze along her own menu. After the waiter has come to take their orders, exiting just as quickly, she says, “You’ll never guess what happened to me at church bingo on Thursday. I won the raffle for the ‘Night for Two’ prize! I’ve got some tickets to see _Cats_ , and a dinner gift certificate to dine at Square Slice at L & B Spumoni Gardens! I would’ve asked you, Steve, but since you’ve married, you’ve become old news.”

“Gee, thanks, Ma.”

Sarah waves him off as Tony laughs under his breath. “But I think I’d rather be taking you, sweetheart,” she says, nodding to Tony who chokes on his next sip of water at the term of endearment, going a bit pink as he scrambles to clean up the spillage. “What say you to that?”

“I -” Tony looks helplessly at Steve, who just grins lazily and shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disrupt what you two do. It’s - I’d be fine if you two wanted to just -”

“And leave you sitting in my dreary house all on your lonesome? Oh no, please,” Sarah insists, turning her nose up at Steve. “Old news, that one, like I said. Much more interested in you. You wouldn’t turn down a frail old Alpha in need of some spry Omega company?”

“Ma!” Steve exclaims, looking scandalized.

Tony bursts into giggles, not offended at all, knowing his mother-in-law is only trying to get a rise out of Steve. “Well, since you put it that way, Sarah. I’d be delighted to help you in this immense time of need,” he replies with a grin and slightly pink face.

“Aye, so reasonable, you are. Steve’s never had taste this good,” Sarah remarks with a smirk as she raises her apple juice in a toast.

Tony chuckles and returns it with his depleted cup of water, allowing the bottom of their glasses to clink together, both of them ignoring the indignant sounds aimed in their direction by Steve.

The rest of the lunch pretty much follows the pattern of them picking on and teasing Steve while he pretends he doesn’t love every minute of the attention by his two most beloved people, or how Tony and Sarah are bonding over it.

While they pack up leftovers to go, and Steve mutters something about the bathroom, disappearing for a moment to leave Sarah and Tony alone, Sarah says, “He’s gone to foot the bill.”

“What? Wait, how do you know?”

“Uses the same trick his Da did, mumbling about bathrooms, like I didn’t see him snatch up the receipt. Now you tell me what good a receipt does a person in the bathroom?”

“Oh.” Tony hadn’t noticed and now he has to laugh at how ridiculous his husband is. “He’s only doing that because he doesn’t trust I won't.” 

“Same here,” Sarah simply agrees with a fond smile. “So, Tony, I’ve heard you’re a fan of my work.”

“I am?”

Sarah indicates to the soft blue cardigan that Tony is currently wearing.

Tony goes a little pink when he realizes she knows that he stole this from Steve. But then he’s distracted by the fact that what he’s wearing is _handmade_ by his mother-in-law. “You can - you did _this?_ ”

“Aye.”

“It’s so soft and -” Tony goes a little red, stammering over the word ‘professional’ because the last thing he wants to do is offend the person who could possibly float him more of these wonderfully knitted items. “You’re really talented.”

“Not learned at all, dear. But I did pick up a few tricks from my knitting group. I’m due for a session in about an hour if you want to come join. If you like what I’ve done so much, I’d like to show you off for it, and maybe you won’t need me after all if you join our circle and learn how to do much of the same for yourself. What do you think?”

“Oh, that’s - that would be - you sure it wouldn’t be a problem? I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’ll fit right in, unlike me. The only Alpha in a circle of, to be honest, all Omega-kind. Took them a few years back in the day to be comfortable enough to welcome me into the fold. They’ll love you, they will.”

Tony ducks his head shyly and fidgets in his seat. “Sure. I’ve got nothing else to do,” he supposes and sighs when he thinks about how true that is and why that is.

Sarah makes a wounded sound at his sad expression and reaches over to rest a hand over his with a comforting squeeze. “Never you mind your pigheaded kin. Stevie and I will look after you properly from now on.”

Tony nods and swallows the emotional lump forming in his throat. “And I’ve got you two … too,” he quickly replies, wincing at the awkward wording.

Sarah smiles like she doesn’t notice, swiping her thumb over his wrist with quick intention before pulling away.

Tony sits stumped where he is because she just - that was - no one has _ever_ scent marked him with such motherly affection before. Not even his own parents or Jarvis (though Jarvis had always worn this expression like he'd wanted to - and there were a few times where he’d make an aborted gesture to do it before he remembered himself again). 

Tony’s not sure what to say or if he should say something.

But Sarah is smiling gently at him like she understands and doesn’t expect anything in return.

So Tony leaves it alone and pulls that hand to rest on his lap when Steve returns to tell them that everything has been bought and paid for like Tony and Sarah already suspected. 

As they stand to leave, Sarah goes on a cheerful tangent about how Tony is going to join her at the next meeting of her sewing club, of which she refers to as the Brooklyn Heights Needling Nellys.

Tony idly traces his thumb over Sarah’s motherly scent mark and lets himself swim in the serene fulfillment it brings. 

.

.

.

It turns out that the Brooklyn Heights Needling Nelly’s hold their meetings at the founder’s house, Janette B. Nelly, or as the members fondly refer to her, Junie Bug. 

Junie Bug has a brownstone in Queens, which is ironic because of their name, but it’s later explained that she moved only some two years ago out of Brooklyn Heights when her oldest was signed as a pro-athlete of some sport or another. Tony’s not exactly sure, sports are more Steve’s area, so he’s not really paying attention to that part. 

Anyway, back to the matter at hand, which is that Junie Bug uses her elegant tea room to host all four of the club’s members: Busy Bee, Fancy Francine, Looney Luna, and Sarah (who is nicknamed Slippery Sarah). The reason for the nicknames, as explained to Tony, is they have earned it after they have completed knitting their first clothing item of choice. 

Busy Bee, a Dominican Omega not overly old, but her body had aged passed her years so much so that she wore the wizened features of an old crone, brings out all the supplies and their projects, laying it on the long coffee table before she starts working on a tassel pillow cover for her own enjoyment. 

Junie Bug, the oldest Omega in the group who had the occasional strand of her once golden hair that could still be seen through the lifeless grey mane that limply framed her aging face, brings out her favorite tea cakes and cookies from her home country (Sweden) and a pot of tea itself on a silver tray.

Tony isn’t really the biggest fan of tea, but he doesn’t want to be rude so he doesn’t turn down the cup that Junie Bug hands over to him.

Meanwhile, Fancy Francine, the second oldest Omega, frail in appearance but gentle in expression with deep brown skin and a Nigerian accent, coos and sighs over Tony while she works on the pair of gloves she plans on sending overseas to her sister. She tosses a number of curious questions his way that he tries to field as best as he can before Sarah drags him over to share a small couch with her, playfully possessive as she tells Fancy Francine to mind her own in-laws, this one’s taken.

All of them titter and chuckle at how pink Tony gets at that but then they shift their focus to their projects. 

Looney Luna (an immigrant from Kweilin, China), the third oldest Omega with slanted eyes, jet black hair and skin on her face that looks too tight, starts up with the latest neighborhood gossip as her fingers move expertly over the quilt she’s building for her latest grandchild.

Sarah divides her attention between chiming into the conversation and giving hands-on help to Tony by offering him a flipbook of the photos they’ve taken of their past projects to give Tony some inspiration for what he might like to try. She, herself, is working on a marriage quilt she said she was going to surprise him and Steve with, but she says it’s okay that he knows now, just so long as he doesn’t tell Steve so she can still surprise him on his birthday. 

Tony spends the next couple of hours until the late afternoon, texting Steve absentmindedly, and smiling to himself in amusement at the way they all gossip and fuss at each other like sisters, lovingly teasing. They all roll the dice on conversational subjects, like spinning an invisible wheel: what tv shows or movies they’ve seen lately, the kind of stocks they’ve decided to invest in, a culinary adventure gone wrong, how much they’ve saved from penny-pinching and coupon shuffling, or which relative is stressing them out this time and adding to the number of grey hairs and wrinkles they have.

Also, they happen to be incredibly vulgar about a lot of things that Tony would have never suspected: sex, love, and money. They all take turns reminiscing about past loves, broken dreams, and the struggles of simply being a woman (whether Alpha or Omega) in the decades that came before Tony’s existence, years he will never see or experience for himself. 

They are all walking, talking history books - full of stories and life lessons. And the fact that they were not originally from America is shared as commonplace between them, the glue that holds them together, fortifies their friendship, and continues their respect and affection for each other since they all understand the hardships of leaving behind all you’ve ever known to integrate in a place where it takes years to rebuild the things they’d been forced to leave behind.

They also don’t seem to mind that Tony is the youngest of them all. They are more than ready to offer any wisdom he needs when he asks questions about certain sowing patterns, threads, and other such things. 

What stumps him though, is how proudly Sarah smiles at him off to the side whenever the others are impressed or charmed by his level of articulation and intelligence. She does it in that same way that Steve often will, and it’s just as lethal, making warm sentimental feelings bubble up in Tony’s gut every time he gets even a glimpse of it.

By the end, though, Tony is so overwhelmed and distracted by the excitement of his first meeting that he can't come to a decision about what he might like to try for himself.

Sarah assures him that it’s normal and okay and that it took her three months before she even started her first project. She encourages him to have a bit of patience, before they both stand to say their goodbyes so they don’t miss their dinner reservation, which would have a domino effect to them missing their show. 

Each and every one of them all agree to see each other again, the week after next, since they only gather every other Monday.

Tony can honestly say that he looks forward to it.

.

.

.

Square Slice at L & B Spumoni Gardens in Bensonhurst has a wide selection of food options that Tony is able to taste test with Sarah because of their prepaid reservation there. They are given the space to a newly installed and renovated VIP room in the back to enjoy each other’s company in private.

They talk at great length about themselves and their personal interests. Tony with his dream of opening a toy store and his love for engineering and robotics, and Sarah expanding on more about her non-for-profit Omega shelter (a temporary housing building for Omegas with no Agency but nowhere to go), and her love for carpentry and interior renovations. She also has her Master’s as a General Nurse Practitioner but she says all of her abundant income goes right back into the shelter and she only keeps enough to live comfortably.

If Tony thought there was no one more righteous or as good as Steve, he’s glad to learn that he’s absolutely wrong because the older Alpha only instilled her selflessness and kindness in her son. And because of how much he loves Steve, he finds himself loving Sarah too, because of who she is and who she helped Steve to be. 

Words really can’t describe how glad he is that he decided to sneak out of Stark Tower the night before his birthday because it led him to a new family that’s shown him that the world isn’t all barbed wires and viciousness like how Howard and Maria led him to believe.

It’s amazing.

Back to the moment at hand, they eat almost everything the restaurant has to offer: from their specialty plates of pasta, house salad, prized entrees, and Sicilian Square Cheesy Pie until they have to tap out before their guts burst from all the good food.

Sarah has the bright idea to box up anything they didn’t get to finish to take home to Steve so that he can try his hand at it, placing it all in the back of the rental car she got for their little night outing to avoid the ridiculous costs of cab fare. 

Tony is still battling off a food coma by the time they arrive to see _Cats_ on Broadway, nearly missing the cut off time to gain entry because Sarah has to take so many laps to find parking before she gives in and hands the keys over to the valet.

The seats they have aren’t directly near the stage, but in the upper right balcony where they are treated to a perfect view of things, so it works. 

Sarah isn’t taking any of it seriously, and more than once the ushers have to come over to remind them to be respectful of the show since the both of them are laughing over their rapid-fast exchange of dry, sarcastic comments about the theatrics of the actors and the props.

It’s not a bad musical to watch, and Tony definitely has a few favorites that he’s probably going to be humming to himself for the rest of the week. It’s just hard for the both of them to fathom that someone actually took the time to make this whole thing into a _thing_ after reading the 1939 poetry book it’s based on.

“It's funny that there were kids there because I wonder how their parents are explaining the orgy scene to them,” Tony remarks during the trip back to the house.

Sarah snorts. “Orgy scene. That’s a good one, Tony.”

Tony laughs but says, “I’m serious.”

“Are you?” Sarah glances over at him and she kisses the front of her teeth as she redirects her gaze to the road ahead. “Explain it to me, because it seems I’m the big dumb child in this scenario. I didnae notice any innuendos.”

Tony tries his best to explain the orgy scene through laughter, which Sarah quickly joins when she understands his references.

“I thought they were dancing!”

Tony chuckles. “Well, some would argue that such an intimate act can be paralleled to dancing,” he offers.

Sarah shakes her head, wiping mirthful tears from her eyes. “Wait till I tell the knitting club about this. They’ll all want to make a day trip, horny little goblins. D’ya know they once tricked me into visiting one of those Alpha strip clubs when we took a trip to Vegas last year?”

“They didn’t!”

“Aye. Paid for a private room and everything. You just wait, last I heard, Junie Bug was entertaining the idea of having a Pure Romance Party.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but what’s that?”

“Oh, well, that’s when you hire a professional seller-host to give an Omega-to-Omega educational rundown of the most highly rated sex toys and such trending in the market currently.”

Tony blushes. “Oh.”

“Aye.” Sarah chuckles a little. “Didnae worry. I won’t force you to attend if Junie B. actually goes through with it.”

“No!” Tony winces when his voice cracks a little with the exclamation. “I mean, no, that’s - that’s okay. I was a little surprised. I didn’t know things like that were a … thing. I’d be, uh, you know - I mean I’m curious for educational purposes and, oh god, please stop me while I’m ahead.”

Sarah gives a deep belly laugh as she reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Never you mind, I understand well enough. I’ll take you as my plus one if it does come to fruition, and you and I can keep this to ourselves. Stevie doesn’t need to know _all_ we get up to.”

Tony snorts, face still hot, but he nods his agreement to that. 

Sarah pulls into the garage, the moving van long since moved (Steve had volunteered to take it back when they parted ways after lunch), and they head inside the quiet house. She says, “Tell that boy of mine that if he’s hungry, he can have at our leftovers. Goodnight.”

“Will do. Goodnight, Sarah,” Tony replies, face warming when she gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek before disappearing up to her room. He sighs as he heads down the steps of the basement and to the cracked bedroom door, only to find Steve and Little Ben curled up together, watching _Nailed It_  on Steve’s laptop. He says, “Do _not_ move, I have to take a picture of this.”

Steve startles a little, just noticing his arrival, which nearly upsets Little Ben off of his shoulder, who chirps his complaints and only settles down when Steve pats him and murmurs his apologies.

Tony takes a dozen photos of it before scribbling out the date, time, and location, stashing them with all the others he’s been accruing so far. Then he kicks off his shoes and climbs into bed to join them, curling against Steve on the opposite shoulder to Little Ben.

“You survived Ma and her gang, I see.”

Tony smiles at the screen of Steve’s laptop, where a baker is desperately trying to recreate the volcano cake. He says, “They’re nice. Unorthodox, but I think that’s what I like the most about them.”

“That so? And are you a master of sowing yet?”

“Oh yeah, totally. You know me. I can conquer anything I put my mind to. Surprised you haven’t noticed the fifty-foot quilt I dragged in behind me.”

“That’s because it’s invisible, right? You've invented invisible thread too? Wow, what will you think of next?”

Tony pinches Steve’s side as the Alpha laughs at his own joke. “Just you wait. I’m gonna knit you some monstrosity and force you to wear at all social engagements.”

“Ah, but are you sure you want to test me? You know I will. Proudly too.”

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles in exasperation because yeah, he wouldn’t put it past Steve to do something obnoxious like that. “No, but the meeting was seriously fun. I'm still working on deciding where I want to start.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, a little bit distracted by the ensuing episode on display. After a while, he asks, “How about the food and the play? You two saw _Cats_ \- wasn’t that what it was?”

“Mhm. Sarah almost got us kicked out.”

“Oh this I gotta hear.”

Tony goes into great detail about his time with Sarah, how much he enjoyed himself, how funny and witty he thinks she is. When he’s dragged a few laughs from Steve about their time on Broadway, he circles back to talk about dinner and how there are leftovers in the fridge if Steve wants them. 

Steve says that he does.

“What about you? What have you been up to?”

Steve replies, “Took the moving van back, and talked to Riley a bit, but he didn’t tell me anything different from what he said to you. When that was done, I finished getting us unpacked. Came across Little Ben and figured he could keep me company until you two got back. He mostly worked on what you had him working on before you powered him down while I was unpacking and organizing. We finished up at the same time and I thought I’d introduce him to one of my favorite cooking shows. And that’s when you showed up.”

Tony sits up and takes the time to look around because sure enough, everything is in its rightful place, making their bedroom more personal to them. It settles something deep within that Tony didn’t even realize was an issue until now. He can easily spot some of his things, including Drew’s placement on the dresser posted under the windows. He settles back against Steve after complimenting how nice everything is.

“Thanks,” Steve murmurs while he combs his fingers through Tony’s hair, the smile in his voice audible. “You know, I kinda don’t want to go to work tomorrow. Been so used to sleeping in and not having to think about it.”

Tony tries not to grimace as it reminds him of his own situation but he can’t help it. A bitter sadness starts manifesting in his chest while he thinks about what Happy’s going through, and his own lack of options now that he doesn’t have his Agency.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tony.”

Tony sighs and sits up. “It’s nothing but much of the same. I hate the way my parents are screwing everything up.”

“Well, I'm not really their biggest fan right now either. But, I mean, we got a roof over our heads, and yeah, I’m the sole breadwinner still, but it could be worse. It’s an adjustment, certainly, but we’ll get through it. Riley’s cooking up something, and when you’re ready to meet with Coulson and Romanov again, you can barter for your Agency, just like we talked about.”

“I should demand more but they can’t afford me,” Tony grumbles halfheartedly with a sigh of frustration because that just gets him thinking about FRIDAY. He blinks when Little Ben clamors onto his lap and vibrates a joyful chirping noise to cheer him up. He smiles and pets him. “Thanks, buddy. I’m okay.”

Little Ben chirps again before crawling off the bed and scuttling out the door, presumably to explore the rest of his house at his own leisure.

“I told your mom about him, right?” Tony asks when he thinks about it. "I remember mentioning him."

“She knows not to squish him flat if they cross paths,” Steve assures as he climbs out of bed to hunt for his shoes. “I’m in the mood for some fruit. There’s this specialty stand up the street that’s open twenty-four hours if you want to join me? Gotta say, I’ve already been there three times today and it would make me feel less like a fat ass if you tagged along.”

Tony laughs at how ridiculous his husband is but nods as he gathers his own shoes to put on. 

.

.

.

The specialty stand in question that Steve takes him to is plenty popular, even at the late hour of ten o’clock at night. It also actually hosts a variety of Mexican-themed street-style snacks. It seems to be especially popular among the younger crowd, and it's mostly teens in their junior and senior year of high school who idle around and fill up the outdoor tables surrounding the small stand blaring Ranchera music.

The funny thing is that the owner, who introduces himself as Luis, immediately recognizes Steve and yells over his shoulder to his companions, “Yo! Dave! Kurt! Ay, guess who’s back? It’s _Mango con Chile y Limon_.”

Dave and Kurt, who are working on the current orders snicker and give Steve a friendly wave.

Steve huffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“Nah, man, don’t be like, embarrassed. We love regulars!” Luis swears.

Kurt adds, with a nod, “Keep us in business and out of big house.”

“I know that’s right, amen,” Dave chimes as he hands a group of teens their order of Elote corn with a friendly smile.

“Yeah, so, the point is, your patronage is going to a worthy cause,” Luis assures. “What do you say, homie? Your usual?”

“Make it a double,” Steve agrees.

Luis winks and quickly moves to impale two mangos on a stick that he’s cut in an ornate manner that resembles something between a flower and a pinecone before sprinkling chili powder and other such fixings on top, handing it over to Steve before announcing the total due.

Steve looks at the sticks in his hand and down at himself before he looks to Tony. “You mind grabbing my wallet for me?”

“I got this one,” Tony says, seizing the opportunity to pay and add a little extra for a tip.

That does not go unnoticed by Luis. “Ay, thanks! Mango, you got yourself a keeper here.”

“You’re not wrong,” Steve murmurs with an amused grin, ignoring the fact that Luis has gifted him with a new nickname that Tony will totally utilize as often as possible. “Have a good night, Luis. Kurt. Dave.”

Dave replies. “Bye, Mango!”

“Same time tomorrow, yeah?” Kurt adds with a teasing smirk.

Luis just gives them both a two-fingered salute before urging forward the next customer.

Steve nods towards the local park nearby and they walk over to the swing set to sit down. He hands over Tony’s portion before indulging in his own. “You’re going to lord that over me, aren't you?”

Tony grins innocently and it only widens when Steve’s narrows his eyes at it. “I am absolutely clueless as to what you mean, Mango,” he replies, like the evil little gremlin he is.

Steve scoffs and shakes his head fondly. “I let you get away with so much,” he mutters and makes a gesture to the fruit in Tony’s hand. “Go ahead and try that and then we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

Okay, so. Tony swears he has an out of body experience when takes that first juicy, tart, zesty bite, and he groans loudly at the bursts of flavor that greet his tongue before he can even help it.

”Taste good?” Steve asks, watching Tony with fathomless dark eyes, making his skin crawl in the most pleasant ways possible. He even has the nerve to smirk when he notices the way Tony is desperately pressing his thighs together at the attention being sent his way. “Yeah, I recognize that look. You gonna let me taste _you_ when we get home, sweetheart?” 

Tony flushes deeply and shushes him, slapping him on the arm as the Alpha laughs carelessly. 

“Okay, okay. Easy!” Steve shields his mango from the onslaught, rocking back on his swing to move out of Tony’s line of fire. “Simple ‘no, thanks’ works just as good, you know.”

Tony scoffs and leaves him be. “There’s no way I’m going to let you do - do _that_ while we live with your mother,” he says.

“Why not? Do you think she don’t already know what happens between two people who love each other? Besides, the walls are soundproof as long as we keep the windows closed.”

Tony can feel heat prickle at his face and he hates that he’s getting a little turned on at the promise of being intimate with his husband at no cost to his dignity. “I’ll think about it,” he mutters stubbornly between bites.

“Sure,” Steve casually concedes which makes Tony immediately suspicious. “Maybe I’ll do some thinking myself.” His voice has gone low and a little raw as he continues, “Gonna think about your pretty eyes, your hands, your mouth, and the thickness of your thighs. That little tremble they do whenever I give you my fingers or my tongue. How you sound when you cum for me and -”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Tony whines, quickly cutting him off as he’s forced to press his thighs together again as his cock starts to swell and slick starts leaking out little by little with every word. “Wicked. You’re so fucking wicked, Rogers.”

Steve just laughs with a shrug as he happily finishes his mango with these obnoxious little slurping noises that are too indecent for the public. Not to mention that he’s staring intently at Tony while he’s doing it like he’s imagining that it’s Tony he’s doing this to.

Tony’s face goes bright red as he watches the way Steve’s tongue works and knows he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t envious of that stupid piece of fruit “Rude. You are diabolical, Mango.”

Steve snorts but keeps at it. “I’m trying to seduce you, if it’s not obvious.”

“It’s obvious,” Tony complains with a slight whine and can barely finish the rest of his own fruit, so distracted by the tricks Steve is utilizing. “God, are all you nice Catholic boys this bad?”

Steve has the audacity to smirk. “Who said I’m nice?” His gaze dips low over Tony's form and slowly comes up.

Tony feels absolutely naked at the other end of that gaze, which runs over him, intimate like a physical touch, and god, suddenly it’s a little harder to breathe, harder to keep his hands steady as he finishes the rest of his mango robotically. 

Then, just like that, Steve is turning away to swing lazily back and forth on his swing, like he isn’t the reason Tony’s hands are shaking with desire. “Nice night,” he comments absentmindedly. 

“Yeah,” Tony answers distractedly, swallowing thickly. Suddenly all his reasons for not jumping Steve seem to pale in comparison to how badly he wants his husband. “Can we - can we go home now?”

Steve takes his time answering, finishing up what’s left of his mango before he replies, “That depends. You gonna let me have you tonight?”

Tony nearly wants to cry. “ _Yes,_  okay, god, please.”

“Thank, Christ.” Steve even throws up a hail Mary, making Tony laugh incredulously before he stands. “Wasn’t sure how long I’d have to keep that up until I begged.”

“You would have begged?” Tony is intrigued by that. He stows that away for later. “Well. Better you than me.”

“Guess so,” Steve says, looking really amused. “Never mind, let’s get you home so I can make you cry.”

“I don’t cry,” Tony weakly protests, though he doesn’t know why he bothers because they both know he certainly _does,_ especially when Steve hits all the right spots. “Just for that, I’m not begging either.”

“Oh, you’ll beg.”

“I will _not_.”

.

.

.

“God, Steve - _please,_ ” Tony begs from where Steve has him boxed in against the edge of the bed with his head between Tony’s shaky thighs while rests on his knees on the floor before Tony. “ _Please_.”

“Thought you said you weren’t going to beg, honey.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Tony complains with a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He’s completely naked but Steve hasn’t bothered to remove even one article of clothing. Tony can’t really explain how that even happened or why something as simple as _that_ turns him on but god, it does.

Steve continues to tease him as he spreads Tony’s legs wider, hands hot and heavy from where they’re pressing down on Tony’s inner thighs to kept them indecently seperated while he traces his tongue up and down the length of Tony’s left thigh. He’s sucking marks there that makes Tony mewl while his cock twitches wetly against his stomach, red and flushed.

Tony whines when Steve slowly drags his mouth down to the crease of where leg meets thigh, sucking a rough mark there that makes Tony choke over a moan as he clenches down on nothing. He can feel how sopping wet he’s getting from all the stimulation, hands gripping the edge of the bed while Steve continues to take his time.

“Mm, what do we think, honey? Gonna let me taste you the way I want?”

Tony nods quickly, eager, too far gone to feel shame or embarrassment.

“Yeah. Should I go ahead and help myself?”

Tony nods again, biting off a soft sob of desperation as he does it.

Steve, thankfully, takes pity, licking a thick enthusiastic stripe right inside of him.

Tony gasps, jolting into the sensation before dropping his head back as his toes curl up in absolute pleasure. He can hardly hear the greedy little groans Steve is making as he rotated between wide, aggressive licks and gentle, whisper-soft kitten licks his mouth made while he ate Tony out with the same kind of enthusiasm he had when he'd been eating that mango earlier.

It’s nearly obscene the way Steve looks between his thighs, hair smooshed down on his forehead as he dives in at the nose, eyes closed with euphoric concentration and focus.

Tony could cum from that sight alone and be sustained on for the rest of his life. He flushes when Steve starts to just kiss him down there, something that comes off as innocent and chaste but was at the wrong area for it, and then he starts _sucking_ at Tony’s rim.

Tony cries out, scrambling to find purchase or something to hold on to.

Steve chuckles darkly, pulling away, unashamed that his mouth and his chin is covered in Tony’s slick. “That’s a new sound. Do it again, a little louder.”

Tony is stuck between absolutely refusing out of sheer embarrassment and wanting to give him exactly what he’s asking for. The choice is taken out of his hands though when Steve dives back in and starts lapping his tongue against Tony’s opening before sucking again and again until Tony thrashes with a choked cry.

He tries to beg for more, tries to tell Steve how much he’s driving him insane, how good it is, but Tony can’t get the words to come. His mouth is _literally_ failing him and his brain is about to follow soon if Steve makes him cum like this, which is looking more and more likely with the way Steve bypasses all gentleness to fuck into him with his tongue. 

“Don’t cum,” Steve says, pulling away to run his hands up and down the inside of Tony’s trembling thighs. “Not yet. Wanna be inside you for that.”

“Oh god,” Tony groans as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock to stave off the orgasm he can feel building there. “Oh god, Steve, I - I don’t know if I can.”

Steve merely kisses the front of his teeth as he rises to his feet and begins to strip while he leans heavily against Tony between his legs so that Tony can feel every movement of it. “Be a good little Omega and wait,” he says with affectionate sternness. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?”

Tony whimpers, biting his bottom lips as he nods with watery eyes, keeping the grip he has on his cock firm because he knows that the moment he lets go, he will cum.

“Mm, that’s a good little Omega,” Steve compliments as he kicks off the last of his clothes. “I love you, honey. All of you. You’re so fucking perfect. And the way you taste?” He reaches down between them to get at the slick slowly dripping out of Tony before he brings some of it to his mouth, moaning as Tony watches with a dark flush as he sucks at his fingers. “Christ, you taste so fuckin’ good, I can’t stand it.”

“Please,” Tony sobs, his whole body trembling with the words. “Oh, please, Alpha. _Please please please please please_.”

That seems to be the final straw for Steve, who loses his composure to push Tony up the bed towards the middle, leaning forward so he can sweep Tony up into a savage kiss while his cock pushes inside slowly.

Tony’s body is more than ready for it, more than willing, gaping and swallowing Steve up shamelessly as Tony starts making noises again, soft little gasping sounds he can’t even control. They become louder, building with Steve’s first thrusts, which are careful, steady, but firm.

Everything is so slippery and wet, Tony can hardly hold on to Steve as he picks up the pace, fingers grasping desperately at his forearms as Steve beats into him harder and harder. Then Steve stops all at once and Tony swears he will cry and strangle the man.

But Steve’s saying, “Get on your knees.” and Tony does _not_ argue, so stupid already with pleasure, lifting up on shaky arms as his legs almost refuse to cooperate, fumbling onto his hands and knees. 

Tony groans as Steve corrects pose with firm, confident hands, clutching onto the curve of his hips and then, _godyes,_  Steve is slipping back inside again and, _ohfuck,_ this is _so_ much better.

Steve steps it up by spanking him, laughing breathlessly when it gets Tony to squeeze down around him with a strangled yelp. “Wow, look at you go. You must really like that, honey, you’re squeezing me really hard.” His hand comes down a few more times on Tony’s right cheek to prove that point.

“ _Fu - ah - ah - oh my fucking god, yes._ ”

Steve’s got him babbling now, overwhelming him as he varies between swift, pointedly deep thrusts and heavy-handed spanking. 

Tony can’t even hold himself up anymore, collapsing on top of his own arms as his face presses deeper into the pillows at the head of the bed where Steve has managed to fuck him towards. It felt like Steve was everywhere, surrounding him, inside of him, overwhelming him as his hips snapped harder and harder with each thrust until they were both out of breath.

Steve spanks him some more, leaving behind that wonderful, tingling heat that sparks something deep within Tony that he can feel all over. “You gonna cum, huh?” he pants. “Gonna cum all pretty for me? All over yourself and the sheets? Come on, sweetheart. You can cum. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Tony can feel it building at the request, his thighs trembling against the onslaught of pleasure that crashes into him, his eyes roll into the back of his head. He locks up all over, even his throat, where strangled little gasps and whimpers are trying to crawl out, and then his body just gives into it. He contracts around Steve, harder than he’s ever the whole time they’ve been together, the orgasm robbing him of all sense, all coherency, all strength. He literally whites out as he shoots all over himself and the sheets. 

He only comes to when Steve is pulling out to stroke himself off and come in ribbons all over Tony’s chest and stomach, groaning as the tremors of his own orgasm shake him to his core. Then he collapses beside Tony, both of them breathing wildly, their chests heaving as their hearts thrash inside their chests.

“Holy fucking shit, Steve,” Tony gasps, waiting for the world to stop spinning. “I don’t think you’ve ever given it to me like that. I can’t feel my legs. What are they _teaching_ you Catholics?”

Steve chuckles weakly, seeming out of sorts himself. “It’s just you,” he replies hoarsely. “S’always better with you, honey. C’mere, give me some attention.” 

“I gave you more than that a minute ago,” Tony huffs but lets himself be dragged backwards towards Steve’s chest until they are spooning. “I’m gonna be all sticky.”

“Nah, just give me a second to rest my eyes and I’ll take care of it,” Steve promises as his breath starts to even out little by little.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“M’not. Just need a moment.”

Tony rolls his eyes and waits, surprised when Steve manages to keep his word, stumbling towards the bathroom to start the shower. As it steams up, Tony watches Steve wander back to him and help him out of bed so they can make use of it.

Both of them are still pretty shaky as they take turns helping each other wash up, sharing soft kisses and tender affections that prolong the process but they feel much better by the time they climb out.

Tony even helps Steve change the sheets after they slip into some fresh sleepwear. Before he hits the bed, ready to pass the fuck out, he opens the door for Little Ben when the spiderbot scratches at the door with sad little chirps. He takes a moment to watch Little Ben web himself in a corner and go into 'idle mode' before he climbs into bed to join Steve.

“Now I really don’t want to go to work tomorrow,” Steve mumbles as he presses his forehead between Tony’s shoulder blades while spooning him from behind.

“You have to,” Tony huffs, patting one of the arms wrapped around his waist. “You’re the sole breadwinner now, remember?”

Steve just grunts unhappily.

“Go to sleep, grumpy,” Tony urges. “I’ll be here when you wake up, and I’ll be here when you get in from work.”

Steve hums pleasantly at that. “Promise?”

“Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Steve mumbles with a content sigh. “Love you.”

Tony smiles. “Love you too. Always.”


	22. YEAR 1: PART VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV

**TWENTY YEARS AGO - SUMMER OF 1999**

Steve is eight years old when his seldom seen Uncle Morgan decided to drop by unannounced, as he usually preferred, while he and his Ma were sitting out on the front porch. There had been a recent outbreak among the neighborhood kids - something to do with lice, which Bucky and Sam, unfortunately, were recent victims of - and his Ma had wanted to be sure he was in the clear that evening.

The air that summer night had been thick, his Ma’s arms hot and sticky as she pressed him closer where they sat on the porch steps. The cicadas screamed in the trees while wisps of clouds passed overhead to give only fragments of the night sky, shining through like broken pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Uncle Morgan lived overseas, like the rest of their family, but he was the only one who took the time to cross the great ocean to check in on his younger sister and his nephew. He was the only one who acknowledged them when all the others talked or referred to his Ma like a ghost - the family shame. Running away with Da to protect the love they found in each other despite their backgrounds had driven a wedge that his grandparents on both sides refused to mend, and so the rest of the extended family followed suit. But not Uncle Morgan. He always scoffed and called them all idiots. 

He’s just as tall as Steve remembers when he’d seen him last at the age of six, taller than Ma, as tall as Steve hopes to be someday if he’s lucky. His Uncle Morgan’s hair was a copper red, a different hue than his Ma’s; sweat gathered at his brow, his clothes nice and pressed as if he’s going to church, which he would not. He’s the only man on his Ma’s side of the family that didn’t believe in a higher power. Steve’s Ma once said it was because he lost his wife and his children to a fire when a lightning bolt struck his house one evening when he was away at bible study during a time before Steve was born. 

Uncle Morgan was a good man, and Steve liked him just fine, and maybe even more than any of his other absentee relatives. Uncle Morgan always brought candy from Ireland and never talked to Steve like he was stupid or didn’t know anything about anything like all the other older people in his life, excluding his Ma. 

Steve thinks Uncle Morgan liked the fact that Steve never pretended not to see the burn scars riddling half of his neck and a good portion of his body. Steve even outright asked him about it, to his Ma’s grief, and Uncle Morgan just smiled crookedly while he explained that he decided to set himself on fire seemed like a good idea at the time when he was really, really sad and missing his family.

“Does that happen a lot?” Steve asked that evening, staring up at him with the wide eyes of an eight-year-old while he sat between his Ma’s legs on their porch. She’d been carefully combing and parting his hair to check on his scalp health when Uncle Morgan pulled up into the driveway in his old beat-up truck. A truck he spoke of fondly when people pointedly complained about the loudness of his engine. He also called it Sally for some reason too. “Do you get so sad when you grow up that it makes you want to hurt yourself like that?”

“Well, look at that now. This one’s got a good head on his shoulders, Sarah,” Uncle Morgan complimented his Ma. “Asks questions no other would think to but sincere.”

“Aye,” is all his Ma just grunted as she continued to part Steve’s hair. 

Uncle Morgan then turned his gaze to Steve. “Sometimes, laddie. Mostly when love beats you somethin’ fierce.”

“Yeah? Does that mean love did you in the wrong way, Uncle Morgan?” 

Uncle Morgan smiled at Steve, both sad and amused when he replied, “Love’s gone and crushed me worse than others.”

“And you decided to burn yourself? But - but didn’t it hurt? Ma made bacon this mornin’ and - and the grease popped me like a switch and it hurt so much that I cried for a long time. Fire must be stronger than that!”

The older Alpha nodded slowly like he was humoring Steve and then shrugged. He reached into his nice dress pants and pulled out a handful of wrapped candy before he dropped it in Steve’s lap. “Sadness can be the worse kind of pain there is. Worse than bacon grease. Worse than fire. Anythin’ else after it just seems like it's not as bad,” he finished explaining.

“I don’t ever wanna be that sad,” Steve proclaimed between smacks, his tongue made the hard candy in his mouth clack against his teeth loudly. “I don’t ever want love to hurt me like that - to make me wanna hurt myself.”

“I don’t see why you should ever have to, ya wee sprout, but no way to know for sure - some things can’t be helped, and I’ve got no way to tell you which roads to take to lead you away from it. You’ve gotta remember though, Steve,” Uncle Morgan replied and gave Steve another grave look. “Love isn’t soft, like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite, claws which maim, fists which swing, and the wounds never close.”

“Oh, away with you!” his Ma fusses. “Don’t go and put such nonsense in my boy’s head. Love isn't all dreaded. Now, what do you want? You didn’t come all this way to show a sad face. What do you want?”

Uncle Morgan patted Steve’s shoulder before he claims to just want to be among family he actually likes. Then Uncle Morgan addressed his Ma with an aggravated tone about England's Prince Edward and his long-time girlfriend Sophie Rhys-Jones getting married. 

Steve found it to be boring grown-up talk and focused on eating as much candy as he could before his Ma could decide that he’d had enough. He thinks about the things his Uncle said and decides right then and there that he’d never marry for love.

 _Besides,_ Steve thinks amusedly to himself. _Who’d want a sickly fella like me for their Alpha?_

.

.

.

**PRESENT DAY**

Steve nearly physically recoils when his alarm goes off in the morning. He’s so bone-tired but also incredibly comfortable right where he’s curled up against Tony, who is completely conked out and snoring softly. Steve both admires and envies him for it.

When his alarm screams again from the nightstand, he blindly reaches out to silence it before it can disturb his husband. He sighs when nothing can be heard but the morning quiet and the soft whirring of Little Ben from where he’s webbed up in the corner in ‘sleep mode’.

He procrastinates getting up and getting ready to snuggle closer to his Omega, gently kissing the curve of his shoulder over and over as he prays that nothing but good fortune finds Tony today before he finds the willpower he needs to extract himself.

He’s still not really awake by the time he’s finished his morning routine and gets dressed for the day, giving Tony one last kiss on the top of his head after he makes sure that he’s properly tucked in. And yeah, he even takes a few minutes to even scent mark his husband just to settle the needling urge stemming from basic Alpha instincts.

He finds himself up in the kitchen rushing through eating some slightly burnt toast while he makes a paper bag lunch for himself when his Ma appears, tall and willowy in a nightgown as she puts on a kettle for her usual morning cup.

Suddenly he’s swept back into childhood, those days before the introduction of the American public education system was introduced to him by way of Kindergarten, those early mornings spent with him still being so fascinated by his Ma and all she was as a person, as an adult, as an Alpha. His Ma, who had been so protective of him after his Da left them both the day Steve was born, had completely bypassed signing him up for Day Care and Preschool, adamant that it was a reflection of poor parenting on her part if she could hardly look after him for at least the first five to six years. There was a point when he’d been afraid that his Ma would homeschool him just like she had been.

Ma was funny that way, but no one understood better than Steve did the things she had to shoulder after his Da passed, leaving her lost and stricken for the next six months with a sickly baby that wept and cried for his Oma without ever really comprehending that he would never know the pleasure of bonding skin to skin with his carrier. Nor would he have the advantage of a fully formed immune system properly developed by way of countless sessions of breastfeeding, and though its common knowledge now, the importance of such intimacy, back then, wasn't overly apparent, as the advances of science and medicine hadn’t nearly gotten as far. 

His Ma actually learned about it later in life, later when there was not much to do for it during one of her knitting sessions with her longtime friends, the Omegas. “D’ya know there are people who still act as nursemaids? Even here in this country. Oh, Steve, all the aches and pains you could have avoided if I had more sense about how to handle your care as a wee baby.”

Steve had spent nearly an hour countering that argument, pointing out the things she _had_ accomplished as a single parent until she quieted down and said she believed him. She still insisted that he be sure to see to it that his own litter be properly breastfed when the time came and Steve had been too reluctant to admit that he had no plans to sire any children, too afraid of the ailments he might consequently pass down like some sort of faulty genetic inheritance.

Now, well, Tony’s completely switched his mindset about it. His endless love for the Omega makes him want to take the risk, but he’s also planning on making sure they are more than medically prepared for any unseen setbacks. Tony deserves to have as many children as he wants, and Steve would do everything in his power to be the only one to give them to him, fears aside.

Back in the present, after he shakes off his nostalgic mood, Steve notices that Little Ben has somehow materialized on his Ma’s shoulder, chirping curiously at the cabinet stocked with different flavors of tea. “Oh, geez, Little Ben, you can't just climb on any and everyone. Sorry, Ma. You want me to take him back down?”

Sarah huffs and waves him off before petting Little Ben affectionately. “Never you mind, dear. He’s so wee and harmless. Little sweetheart, he is. He’s not a bother. I actually rather like him. D’ya know he helped me fix my blow dryer last night when he paid me a visit? Might have him look at the toaster next. It still burns all my damn bread even at the lowest setting and I refuse to buy another,” she rants.

Steve chuckles as he finishes up the last of his toast and pours himself some tea to go when his Ma offers it. “Gotta go but, ah, Tony’s still sleeping and I won’t be back until much later.”

“Aye, I’ll keep an eye on the wee darling. Might take him with me to the shelter, if he’s up for it.”

“I think he’d like that. Okay, I really have to head out. Bye, Ma. Love you.” Steve kisses her on the cheek and smiles when it’s returned before he pats Little Ben affectionately when the spiderbot chirps sadly like he’s upset about being left out of the pleasantries. 

He takes his exit, locking the front door firmly behind him, and walks to the nearest bus terminal to start his long commute to work, utilizing the time to email Bucky, even though he knows there won’t be a reply for quite a while.

That’s not to say that Bucky doesn’t read them, so for that reason alone, he catches his best friend up on the latest happenings of his life before diving into the latest crossword puzzle the local paper had to offer.

.

.

.

Katherine, their newest college intern, is manning the U-shaped service desk when Steve arrives at the Rec, and she tosses him a small smile that seems off somehow. “Morning, Steve. Boss man says he wants to see you as soon as you can swing it,” she says. “I think it’s urgent.”

“Sure thing, thanks,” Steve replies, not finding the request unusual. Most days, he and Mr. Tan will have one-on-one sessions to gauge his metrics for teaching, any feedback the students thought to offer, or basically just catching up since the older Beta was especially fond of Steve for whatever reason that he didn’t see the sense to question.

Mr. Tan’s office was located in the Music Department on the second floor, right across from the Nurse’s office. He had countless awards neatly lined on the wall behind his desk, and framed pictures of his Beta wife, their Beta children, and their Beta grandchildren cluttered all around his desk.

“You wanted to see me?” Steve says from the doorway, entering when Mr. Tan waves him through distractedly with his free hand, his other hand keeping the receiver of his rotary phone pressed to one ear, something the tech staff had tried to dissuade him from using and upgrading to the smartphone they had ready on hand for him.

But Mr. Tan was a man that was quite set in his ways, and argued that he used the desktop they gave him, figuring that was enough. He lorded this fact over the tech team and eventually they let him have his way.

Steve sits in one of the cushioned armchairs on the other side of Mr. Tan’s desk as he waited for the older man to finish his murmured conversation.

Mr. Tan nods with a furrowed brow to whatever is being uttered in his ear, writing down with a quickness in his opened journal, Chinese symbols that Steve has no hopes of ever understanding. Then finally, he slams the receiver back on the phone with a frustrated sound and a couple of swear words uttered in a foreign language.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, concerned.

Mr. Tan tries to give him a smile, but it’s so waspish and fragile that Steve thinks he should have hardly bothered at the attempt. “I’m okay. How are you, Steve? How was the honeymoon?”

“Much needed, as it turns out,” Steve supposes lightly, curious about why Mr. Tan is fidgeting nervously. “You sure everything is okay?”

Mr. Tan sighs, flattening his hand over his yellow tie to smooth it down as he straightens the line of his shoulders. “Steve.” He pauses suddenly and looks at him with such grief. “Steve, I - I want you to know that I’m on your side. But you must be honest with me.”

Steve has a bad feeling bubbling up in the pit of his stomach. “I’m always honest,” he says.

Mr. Tan nods quickly like he believes it without a doubt. Then he pauses again, hesitating. He says, “I want you to know that this is not easy for me, but I have not been left with much choice. Several of your students have - well … there’s no easy way to say this, but. They have accused you of sexual misconduct and inappropriate behavior.”

Steve inhales sharply in shock. "I would  _never -_ "

Mr. Tan hastens to add, “I know! I believe you, I do. And although they have not pressed charges as of - as of now, they are petitioning me and the board of directors for your immediate removal. I want you to know that I have been fighting for you all morning against their decision, but, well. They have agreed not to make a public spectacle about this while they investigate these claims and the validity of these stories.”

Steve can’t believe this is happening. Actually he can, with the way things have been falling into a domino effect lately. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Christ. What the fuck is Howard and Obadiah’s problem? There’s no way they aren’t responsible, no way they didn’t _pay_ some of his students to lie about this.

Mr. Tan continues, “You’re not fired. Not really. But I am sorry to say that you will be suspended without pay indefinitely.”

Steve laughs bitterly, leaning forward to rub tiredly at his eyes. “I think I’d rather be fired,” he mutters, mostly out of frustration.

Mr. Tan doesn’t seem to have a response for that. He says, “Do you have a lawyer?”

Steve straightens, dropping his hands and willing himself not to have a breakdown right then and there. He’s been humiliated enough as is. He nods.

“Are they any good?”

Steve nods again.

“Good. That’s - that’s great, Steve,” Mr. Tan remarks, still fidgeting with that mournful and guilty expression. “If there’s anything that you need … _anything_ I can do, just say the word. You’ve always been one of my favorite teachers. Everyone loves you here and will defend the integrity of your character.”

Steve doesn’t bother to point out that obviously not _everyone_ loves him if a few were willing to rake him over the coals for the right price. He just nods wordlessly again, feeling a little numb. How is he going to explain this to Tony? Christ, this was going to break his heart as much as it’s breaking Steve’s.

Seven years. He’d been employed at the Rec for nearly seven years. All of that, poof, just gone.

“Johanna has volunteered to take over your classes while we get this sorted out,” Mr. Tan continues. “Again, we’ll just explain to the students you’ve decided to take a sabbatical of sorts. There’s no reason for this to get ugly. I’m sure you’ll be back before we all know it.”

Steve really doubts that but he nods once more.

Mr. Tan looks pained by his lack of verbal responses. “Do you have any questions or concerns?” he asks timidly.

Steve nearly laughs but stops himself the last second as he stands. “Nope,” he says. “It’s pretty cut and dry, Mr. Tan.”

“Ah ... well. Security is - they will help you grab whatever you need. Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as me,” and with that Steve exits without a backward glance.

.

.

.

Steve almost goes straight home.

He doesn’t.

He almost goes to Stark Tower.

He doesn’t.

What he _does_ do is catch the next ferry out to Staten Island and head to the St. Andrew's Roman Cathedral about six blocks from Peggy’s place.

Steve has a special connection to this church. It’s where Sharon was both baptized and confirmed at. It’s where Peggy asked him to be Sharon’s godfather about two months after the Beta girl was born. He’d cried both days - big, fat tears - his face pink, his heart full, his soul humbled. 

Peggy had been equally concerned and amused both times, saying, “Honestly, Steve. You’d think you’d sired her yourself. Are you really so honored?”

“I just realized I missed her,” Steve had replied, as if that made any sense or clarified his emotional breakdown. But what could he really say to make her understand? He added, “It’s like missing something you never had, or never thought you could have. I don’t know, Peg. After all the bumps we been through, you still trust me with something like this. Why shouldn’t I act a mess over it?”

Peggy had laughed, shook her head but left it alone. Steve and Sharon were close now, thick as thieves, sharing everything between them as they navigated the wild highs and lows of life.

For all those reasons alone, this church is one of his favorite places to go to when he feels like his life is in a tailspin. It holds a special meaning to him, an immovable place in his heart.

The building is beautiful, old stone and stained glass; a holy cage for God’s children to flock to. 

Steve finds himself sitting at the very back, sitting in an empty pew as he sees a variety of believers spread amongst the dozens of rows, either on their knees, reciting prayer, or on their feet, facing forward to the altar where a large crucifix resides amongst dangling chandeliers, a statue of the Virgin Mother and Child, flowers, and flickering candles looming over and around the pulpit.

The solemness in the air is punctured with the scent of incense, melted wax, the smell of musty prayer books, metal polish, and anointed oil.

Steve’s not sure how long he sits there with his woes clouding his thoughts. He doesn’t pray, couldn’t even begin to know where to start if he even tried. His faith feels so depleted, and his thoughts wander over the recent events of his life, trying to find the strength he needs to get through this but feeling oh so very tested and tried at the same time.

At some point, one of the younger priests sit at the church organs and starts playing one of the long-winded hymns.

Steve lets himself be lost to the music, not wanting to think about much else for a while, when an older man sits slightly off to the right in the row in front of Steve. It takes a few seconds for Steve to really notice him and how out of place he seems in a nicely pressed bespoke suit, his bald head gleaming from the sunlight pouring in from the stained glass windows, and how well-maintained his salt-and-pepper beard is around the lower half of his face.

“So gloomy, these churches,” the man speaks without prompting, stretching his arms out along the back of the pew as he continues to face forward and away from Steve. Though it’s clear he’s addressing him, albeit in a dismissive way. “I could never understand the point of the whole process. It seems to me, that’s it’s just an institution that the lesser fortunate built and invested in with hopes that it could distract them from their dreary little lives.”

Steve sighs. “Excuse me, but do we know each other?”

That gets the other man to glance over his shoulder at Steve with the slightest smirk. “Oh, I’d say that we have maybe one thing in common.” His eyes are glimmering with dark mirth. “But, let me stop being rude. My name is Obadiah Stane.”

Steve wants to laugh, wants to punch this smug sonuvabitch in the face. He does neither. He returns his gaze forward and says nothing while he slips his hands into his pockets briefly, fingers fluttering over the face of his phone by sheer memory, before pulling his hands out again.

“And you must be Steve Rogers,” Stane continues, unconcerned by the lack of response. “You’ve got to excuse this unexpected meet-cute, but given the opportunity, I had to see just what it was that Anthony was forfeiting his inheritance for. You don’t appear to be much, if you can excuse me saying so.”

Steve doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him.

“Howard’s been quite unkind to you both lately, hasn’t he?” Stane remarks with a fake tone of concern. “I would never be so cruel as to force you both out of house and home and deprive you of your jobs. I would've been much nicer. I'd've just cut your face. Called it even.”

Steve breathes slowly, in and out. The older Alpha is only trying to get a rise out of Steve, trying to get Steve to do something stupid he would probably use against him. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap but other than that, he doesn’t react.

Stane frowns at that, looking slightly disappointed. He says, “Howard, though. That man is not known for such quick forgiveness. He’s entertained by the long con, by methodical dismantling. He’s not in the weapon’s business for nothing. No, a mind like that combs over for weak points and then stabs at them mercilessly until defeat is conceded. It’s really nothing personal to you, not really. If you’d been born to more affluence, Howard would have welcomed you into the fold warmly. But you have to understand, Anthony is not common in the least, not in the way you and your mother are. He’s an heir to one of the largest industrial empires. Capitalist royalty. Bred to be the best and to be _bred_ by the best.

“But you, my boy. Howard thinks of you as a lowly street rat. Something filthy that dare defiles the Stark name, and that prominent line. Do you know that Howard can trace back his ancestry all the way to the Mayflower? Not many people can boast such a thing, but the Starks can. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I’m on your side. I want nothing but the best for Anthony. He’s been like a son to me, and I appreciate his worth, more than anyone. Which is why I asked for his hand, not to hurt him. But you understand, yes, why Howard finds your union an insult to his Alpha pride? If not, consider for a moment the world a rat lives in. It’s a hostile world, indeed. If a rat were to scamper through your front door, right now, would you greet it with warm kindness?

“Of course not. You don’t like them. You don’t really know why you don’t like them. All you know is you find them repulsive. Howard thinks the same way about the lower class. To him, you’re just filth - the afterbirth. Nothing you can really do about it. Oh, you can slither to fine establishments like these and rally to a higher power. But. Let me give you a little inside information about God. God likes to watch. He’s a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift, and then what does He do? He lets good people like you suffer for love and romance. Pinning you as another unsuspecting goof to the cosmic gag reel.

“Now, allow me to offer you a bit of advice,” Stane says, increasingly frustrated that he can’t get Steve to react to his dumbass villain monologuing. “Anthony belongs among his own kind. It’s the only way he’ll survive. We're iron mongers, we make weapons. You really think that just because you put your teeth into the soft flesh of his wrist, that he belongs solely to you? You’re on borrowed time, my boy. The best thing to do, the most selfless, would be to return the sheep to its flock. Or you’ll find yourself taking its place in the slaughterhouse.”

Steve’s had enough of this. He heaves himself up from the pew and makes for the exits without another word.

“Won’t you be smart and do the right thing? Give him back to us. We all know you’re fighting an uphill battle, my boy!”

Steve waits until he’s several blocks away before he pulls his phone from his pocket, lifting it to his ear. “Did you get all that?” he asks.

“ _Every word. What a talker,_ ” Riley huffs from the other end of the line. “ _This will be a good transcript to use for court. But take me back a little bit. Where are you and why?_ ”

Steve begins hashing out the details of his day so far, walking slowly towards Peggy’s house, pausing outside of the gate so he can wrap up his conversation with Riley.

“ _I’ll look into it,_ ” Riley swears, and there’s the sound of papers being shuffled before the meek voice of his secretary echoes in the background with a reminder that Riley’s due to attend an upcoming meeting. “ _Listen, Steve, I’ve got to go. But talk to Tony. Tell him what’s going on. I understand your reluctance, but it’ll make you both stronger to be on the same page. Like I said, I’ll look into everything and see what I can finagle and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Might even fly out this weekend so we can talk in person. This is getting a bit ridiculous, bordering harassment. Well, it **is**_ _harassment, but we've got to find the right ways to prove it._ ”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “Thanks, Riley.”

 _“Of course. And call Sam too. He’ll want to offer support._ ”

Steve murmurs his agreement before the line disconnects and he’s stuffing his phone back into his pocket. He pushes the gate open and walks towards the steps, up them, and then to the front door. He rings the doorbell and waits.

Sharon answers, blinking in surprise. “Did I know you were coming?” she asks before turning away and leaving him on the doorstep to walk to the family calendar posted on the fridge. Her frown deepens. “Your name’s not there. What gives? Did we know you were coming?”

“Can't a fella surprise his two favorite gals once in a while without the third degree?”

“Ma’s not here,” Sharon simply replies and grabs a juice box from the fridge as her Brite Pet, Pugsly, rolls laps around her feet before rolling over to Steve curiously. “Want one?”

“Ah, no thanks,” Steve says distractedly as he crouches down to pick up a whitely-lit Pugsly, smiling a little as he’s reminded of Little Ben. He puts Pugsly back on the floor so it can roll back over to Sharon again. “School’s out?”

Sharon nods, wiping the juice from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ma’s gonna enroll me into summer camp, on account of not wanting me to be cooped up in the house for days on end. Why are you here?”

Steve grins wryly. Never one to beat around the bush, his Sharon. He loves that about her. “If you let me take you to Archer’s Arcade, I’ll tell you all about it,” he promises.

Sharon shakes her head. “I’d rather go to the Taxidermy Museum of Wonders they just opened up on Paris Street. Did you know the word ‘taxidermy’ comes from the Greek word for "the arrangement of skin"? According to SimplyHired.com, the average salary of a taxidermist in 2012 was $19,000 per year.”

“I did not know that but that’s very interesting,” Steve replies, used to Sharon’s unorthodox methods of friendly conversation. “You thinking of starting a career with that, chipmunk?”

Sharon shrugs. “Let’s go to the museum first and then I’ll tell you.”

Steve nods. “Call your Ma. Don’t need her getting on my case for taking you out and about without giving her the head’s up. You remember when she wouldn’t let us see each other unsupervised for a month the last time we did that?”

“Worst month of my life,” Sharon jokes but she doesn’t smile with it. She has trouble expressing herself as easily as anyone else her age since she’s on the spectrum. “Come on, Pugsly. Let’s go find my phone.”

.

.

.

The Taxidermy Museum of Wonders is a rather gloomy and strange building full of haunted halls and exhibits that make Steve’s skin crawl. But Sharon is enjoying herself so much that Steve can’t find it in himself to complain about it. He just focuses on telling her every last detail of his current situation, and that lasts their whole tour, right up until the gift shop where Sharon barely has to twist his arm to buy her an ‘I Survived the Taxidermy Museum of Wonders’ t-shirt.

“Thank you for the shirt,” Sharon says as she accepts her bagged item from the lady at the register, blinking blandly when the rep tries to coo at her, telling her how pretty she is and mistaking her for Steve’s daughter, which is a common theme when they’re out. She turns and walks off without acknowledging it, confident that Steve will follow. “I was talking to you, Uncle Steve.”

Steve smiles fondly and plucks a random feather that somehow got in her blonde hair when they were walking through the exotic birds' exhibit. “I know, kiddo. You’re welcome.”

Sharon nods, satisfied. Then she says, “Are you sad?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits because it’s no use pretending with his goddaughter. She always sees right through him. “But I’m more angry than I am sad.”

“Okay,” Sharon simply says. “Let’s stop at the bookstore we passed around the corner before we got here. There’s a book in the window I want to buy for you, but you have to wait outside so it can be a surprise.”

Steve nods with a furrowed brow and an indulgent grin as he follows his goddaughter to the aforementioned bookstore, waiting outside like requested. The wait doesn’t seem long when there’s a golden retriever waiting outside with him, which he pets and compliments before Sharon is exiting the shop to hand him several books on war and military strategy.

“For when you’re called for that kind of cause,” Sharon explains in reaction to his confused expression.

Steve doesn’t really talk about this, but, Sharon’s got this odd … _hindsight_ thing that he’s never been able to explain because he feels like people would look at him sideways if he tried. Peggy certainly did when he first brought it up years ago when Sharon asked him how his chest felt every day for a week straight until he’d found himself suddenly at the other end of a nasty case of walking pneumonia that somehow mutated into acute bronchitis before he managed to shake it off weeks later. 

Not to mention that Sharon was the one who insisted some months ago that Steve see the new Pokémon movie as soon as it came out like she knew he was meant to meet Tony before Steve even knew he needed that encounter. 

Again, Steve keeps that all to himself as he asks, “What do you think I need these for?” 

Sharon says, “Army’s only going to train your body for combat, Uncle Steve. You need to train your mind too. Make sure you come home to me and Ma and Uncle Tony.”

Steve suddenly understands the concern. “You okay to get hugged today, little soldier?”

Sharon shakes her head no. 

“That’s okay, maybe next time. Thank you. It makes me happy to know you care about me this much.”

Sharon nods. Then she asks, “Can we go get some chocolate parfaits from the Wawa?”

Steve nods and that’s what they do. They aren’t too far from the Carter residence, so they eat their fill during the walk back.

Sharon, who is savoring her parfait with a certain detached delicacy, between bites, says, “Hey, Uncle Steve, listen to this. In Africa, the saying goes, in the bush, an elephant can kill you, a leopard can kill you, and a black mamba can kill you. But only with the mamba — and this is true in Africa since the dawn of time — is death sure. Hence its handle: Death Incarnate. Let’s send one of those to Tony’s folks.”

Steve nearly chokes on his next bite, laughing too hard. “I’m all for it, little soldier, but let’s leave that as a last possible option.”

Sharon shrugs like it’s not a big deal to plan premeditated murder. “I like Tony,” she says. “Do you love him?”

“More than I can say,” Steve admits.

“Do you think he loves you?”

“More than I deserve.”

“You both should fight to keep it,” Sharon decides benevolently. “I like the you that you are when you’re married and in love and happy about it.”

“And what was I before? Chopped liver?” Steve mock complains, unavoidably charmed by the younger Beta girl, and finding that his feelings of love for her intensify when she just shrugs like she’s not concerned. “Okay then. You’ve never steered me wrong before. One more time around wouldn’t hurt.”

“I am very wise,” Sharon agrees as they walk through the gate of her house where Peggy is standing, waiting for them both. “Hey, Ma. Will you visit Uncle Steve and I when we go to jail for murder?”

Peggy doesn’t even bat an eye as she replies, “Absolutely not. As if I would let you both get caught. I know my way around a hack saw, and I believe I can manage to figure out how to make some homemade acid strong enough to disintegrate flesh and bone. Why? Who are we murdering?”

“Explain it to you later,” Sharon says as she bypasses her to go into the house. “Bye, Uncle Steve. Tell Uncle Tony that Pugsly has been a dream and I may want a sibling for Pugsly soon.”

“Can do, little soldier,” Steve chuckles and salutes her, smile widening when it’s returned less than gracefully. He’s left alone with Peggy and her curious gaze. “I’ve got to get home, but we’ll catch up.”

“Yes, you keep saying so, but do you really mean it?” Peggy teases reeling him in for a quick hug. “Come back soon. You’re always welcomed, you know that. But don’t bother if Tony’s not with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I won’t dare to swing by without my better half.”

“Best half, I’d say,” Peggy playfully corrects with a wink.

Steve smiles and doesn’t bother to deny it.

.

.

.

Steve learns, when he sits Tony down to explain everything that happened today, that the Omega knows more swear words than Steve does, and is just as creative when he strings them together in a sentence. He sits on the edge of their bed just before dinner time and watches his husband pace back and forth, hands moving animatedly as he vents out his frustrations. For some reason, witnessing Tony’s wrathfully verbal fit as he stomps back and forth, is more comforting to Steve than he can really describe.

“Hey, honey, come here for a sec,” Steve says, desperately needing to have him in his arms.

“No. I’m not done raging.”

Steve laughs and his love for Tony spreads and grows, sticking to him like wet moss on the rocks along the riverbanks. “I know, but I need a hug, and I’ve been patient about letting you get all steamed up like a teapot,” he replies, pressing his hands together like a prayer, happy when it gets Tony to huff and roll his eyes. “Little mercy and compassion for the street rat?”

Tony bristles, a thunderous expression washing over his handsome features. “No, you don’t get to joke like that. I hate that term! It’s so - ugh. That’s not funny. You are gold, Steve. Do you hear me? You are diamonds, and jewels, and soft silk. Fuck Howard and fuck Maria and  _fuck_ Obadiah for saying otherwise. They don't get to decide this for me! I'm serious. We will always be Steve and Tony _Rogers_ \- you and I are one.”

Steve gets butterflies just hearing Tony go off into another pacing rant. “You’re right, you’re right,” he concedes, cutting him off. “It was an awful joke to make. I’m trying to cope here. It’s been a really tough day.”

Tony deflates all at once, looking a little guilty. “Shit. Sorry, Steve. God, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. Well, I can kinda.” He indicates to his temple as the bond swims in agitated ivory whites between them; shared colors usually only happen when they make love, and now it seems when they are both emotionally devastated by something. “Riley was able to record the conversation with Obie?” he asks, climbing into Steve’s lap so they can console each other with their scents.

“Mhm,” Steve replies, tucking his nose firmly into the crook of Tony’s neck to inhale deeply and let himself drift with the calming aroma of peaches and pine-cones. “He’s looking into it.”

“Good.” Tony scratches his fingers through Steve’s hair, pressing a smile against Steve’s temple when the Alpha rumbles and melts into the attention. “Very clever of you, Mr. Rogers, to loop Riley in then and there while Obie talked his shit.”

Steve huffs and slumps more into Tony’s neck. “M’gonna fall asleep if you keep that up,” he warns.

“You don’t say,” Tony murmurs and doesn’t stop massaging his fingers gently against Steve’s scalp. “I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready. You know, Little Ben is helping Sarah make dinner now as we speak. He’s absolutely in love with your mother. He hasn’t left her side once, even when she took me to the Omega Shelter. Did you know there are babies there? I got to hold some of them.”

Steve hums, already too far gone to be as amused or charmed by that as he could be. He lets Tony talk him right into a dreamless slumber.

.

.

.

Tony doesn’t wake him for dinner, but Steve wakes up on his own in the middle of the night by rocks hitting the basement window. He frowns, lifting his head in concern and peering around the darkened room only to find that Tony’s fast asleep beside him, already in his sleepwear and blissfully out for the count. He sighs and carefully extracts himself from the comforting warmth of his husband’s arms to empty his bladder.

By the time he exits the bathroom, his stomach is grumbling unhappily with pangs of hunger and he lets the feeling lead him out the room, up the steps, and into the kitchen. The clock above the stove reads _2:54 am_ and when he looks in the fridge, he sees that dinner has been sorted and tucked away. 

His Ma has cooked some tuna casserole, and it’s obvious that Tony and her have eaten without him, because most of it is already gone. He’s not really sore about that, he needed the sleep he just got and he suspects that Tony knew that too. He’s putting a big serving of it in a bowl and then shoving that bowl in the microwave when there is a gentle knock to the front door.

Steve’s wary about answering it, thinking it’s too late for any visitors. Unless his Ma has been hiding a secret lover and, okay, that’s too amusing and weird to even fathom. He shakes off the thought and edges to the door, using the peephole and frowns when he sees, what seems to be, a teenage kid bouncing back and forth from foot to foot anxiously. 

Against his better judgment, Steve opens the door, merely out of neighborly concern. “Hey, can I help you with something? You lost? Need help?”

The kid seems tongue-tied for a moment, staring at him with wide brown eyes that eerily remind him of Tony. He looks at Steve like he’s seeing someone else, or atleast an echo, but says, “Uh, yes. I mean, yes, sir. I - I’m Peter. My name is Peter and this is going to sound really crazy, but I’m - god, I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He inhales deeply to steel himself and says, “I’m your son. From the future.”

Steve stares at him for a long time. It’s nearly three in the morning, and though Steve is nearing thirty, he can’t be so out of touch with the younger generations that he hasn’t caught wind of some new pranking formula they’ve decided to take on. So he asks, “Is this a joke?”

“No, sir,” Peter replies sincerely. 

“You hit your head or something? Should I call you an ambulance?” Steve asks with genuine concern, looking the younger man over for any signs of blood or major wounds.

Peter’s jaw clenches in frustration. “No! No, I’m not - I’m telling the truth, I swear! I can - I can prove it.” He pauses and thinks for a moment. “The day you met dad - ah, I mean Tony. The day you met, he took you to this diner where you can win a free cheeseburger if you could guess how many whatevers are in a jar. He guessed right and won you both a free meal. You used to tell me that you loved him ever since.”

Steve blinks, taken aback. How did he know about that? He even knew his husband’s name.

“I can say more if you need me to, but, I swear I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have any other choice.” Peter continues, “Look, how about this? Bring me Little Ben.”

Now Steve is really starting to freak out because _how_ did he know about _that?_  

“Pops - ah,  I mean, _Steve_ , please just humor me, please. If you bring me Little Ben, I can prove that I’m telling the truth.”

Steve doesn’t move for a long time, marveling at the fact that Peter knows his name too. Then he says, “Wait here.”

Peter nods eagerly, saying nothing when Steve closes the door and locks it.

Steve manages to track down Little Ben where he’s webbed to his Ma’s headboard. He’s able to extract the mechanical spider without disturbing the older Alpha, and brings him to the front door, stepping out onto the porch.

“Bee!” Peter exclaims and Little Ben chirps excitedly, web-slinging his way to Peter in an instant, making joyful noises that Steve didn’t even realize he was capable of. “Missed you too. You’ve been good though, right?”

Little Ben chirps an affirmation.

“You left the note,” Steve realizes. “That was you.”

Peter nods, smiling shyly.

Steve feels a headache building. “Say I believe you. Which isn’t even remotely … Christ, I don’t know, but say I believe you. Aren’t you breaking some sort of time travel rules by revealing yourself like this?”

“Ah, no, time travel isn’t really as black and white as all that,” Peter explains. “You - uh, well a different you - a you from maybe two months in the future? Yeah, well that you helped me write the note because we realized I needed to introduce myself to you both earlier before dad decides to work exclusively with SHIELD - which he shouldn't by the way, I mean, I know I'm not supposed to try and influence things in this timeline, but please convince him to not work for SHIELD. They are bad news when they don't have their shit together. Ah! Sorry. Excuse my language. Um. Yeah, so. We need to convince him to work for Justin Hammer to get access to his arc technology and the labs there so he can fix my watch. You both helped me write that note two months from now and then gave me a date and a time, and I left Little Ben and the note there and waited out the rest. I’m kinda stuck. My watch won’t let me travel back to the present. Well, my present. I can’t get past this year for some reason and since it’s dad’s formula, he’s the only one that can help me fix it. I had no choice, really.”

Steve doesn’t want to believe it but something in his gut is telling him that Peter is telling the truth. 

“Can I show you something?” Peter asks suddenly, setting Little Ben on the ground. “You have to promise not to tell dad though because I promised him that I wouldn’t show you this, or I promised the him that he'll be two months from now? So technically, I can't break a promise that hasn't been made yet? Loophole. Anyway, can I show you? You don’t seem to be ready to accept what I’m saying.” He presses a few concealed buttons on Little Ben’s abdomen. “Dad built this for me when I was a baby because he had to travel so much for SHIELD after I was born to collect - to collect something. Here.”

Steve watches in amazement as an older version of Tony takes shape in a holographic form, sitting backward on a chair in a dark blue suit with wide-framed glasses and a well-maintained goatee.

“ _FRIDAY, is it on? Yeah. Okay. Well. What should I say? Where to begin? So many_ _places._ _I have been tasked with something ... extraordinary, kiddo._ " Tony takes a moment to take off his glasses and rub tiredly at his eyes before he shoves those glasses back on. _"Am I nervous? Yeah. Fate of the universe, that kinda thing. It’d give anyone itchy skin. This could all end badly. But that’s the thing, right? Part of the journey is the end.”_  Tony kisses his teeth with a shrug and a showy grin, standing to his feet as he wanders over to Steve, not really seeing him _. “Eh. What am I even tripping for? Everything’s going to work out exactly the way it’s supposed to. Simple in and out job. Head to the arctic, dump the stones, fly back. Well all go to Disney World to celebrate. Easy peasy.”_ Tony’s holographic form sighs fondly as he wanders back over to his chair, but he doesn’t sit. He seems to be looking at something unseen. _“Can’t wait to hold you in my arms again, kiddo. You’ve been a dream. Don’t let your sisters give you the business. And try not to give Steve a hard time, I mean, he’s no me, but he’s a keeper.”_ His holographic form moves to turn off the graphics before he pauses to look directly at Peter this time. _“Whenever I close my eyes, whenever we are apart, all I see is you, and your sisters, and your father. It's always you guys.”_  Tony smiles sadly, losing some of his bravado. _"I love you, Peter. Ends of the universe and back. Four score and many more. Many, many more."_  The display disappears. 

Steve stares down at Little Ben for a long time before he lifts his head to look at Peter. And the more he looks at Peter, the more he sees the resemblance. He’s got Tony’s eyes, without a doubt, and his hair but Steve’s nose and jaw are very much prominent in his features as well. “Could you - come here for a moment,” he urges.

Peter shuffles forward and stops right before him.

Steve grabs his right hand and lifts his wrist, closing his eyes to concentrate and sure enough, what he’s looking for, he finds. 

Peter smells like him. Like _them_. A perfect combination of cinnamon spice and peaches. Christ, he really is their kid.

Steve stumbles back and reaches out blindly for the porch railing. He clutches it with shaky hands and concentrates on not having an asthma attack. He blinks when an inhaler is shoved at his face.

Peter wiggles it. “You can borrow mine, da - uh, Steve.”

Steve accepts it, shaking it out before taking what he needs. He looks at Peter while he does so, and suddenly it’s like his own face is looking back at him with Tony’s eyes. It’s … wild. 

When Steve feels less lightheaded, he says, “You’ve got asthma?”

“Yeah, but Uncle Bruce says I’ll grow out of it.”

Steve doesn’t recognize that name, so he wonders who that person is and how they become important enough to earn that title. “I never really grew out of it. I just coped,” he says between slow and steady inhales and exhales. “I passed that onto you, huh? What else did I give you?”

“Oh, just that,” Peter assures, seeming to understand Steve’s concerns. “And maybe a little of the serum.”

“Serum?”

Peter winces. “I wasn’t supposed to say that. Please don’t ask me about that,” he replies instead. “Just know that my sisters and I are all pretty healthy.”

Steve relaxes a little at that because what more could he ask? He won’t really pry too much about that subject. So he asks, “How old are you?”

“Fourteen and a half.”

Steve marvels at that, mind still boggling. “And why is my fourteen-year-old son _time-traveling?_ ” he asks.

Peter’s eyes widen, caught. “Uncle Phil didn’t want me to - there’s this thing that - I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to tell you, but it’s for a good reason! Fate of the universe, you know. Besides, you were otherwise, ah, preoccupied? I was kind of your stand-in.”

Steve kind of wants to punch his future self in the face for letting his son just involve himself in something so dicey. “And Tony was just okay with you making these leaps too, huh?” he presses, narrowing his eyes as Peter flushes, but something in his gaze is darkened with sadness. “What is it? What’s that look for?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you,” Peter mumbles, shuffling foot to foot. “I already told dad too much when I bumped into him at Auntie Dora’s party last week.”

Steve suddenly remembers the conversation he had with Tony about that. “You’re _that_ Peter?”

Peter nods and accepts back his inhaler when it’s handed to him.

Steve has a sinking feeling. “You told Tony that your dad died. Which of us was it?” he asks because he has to know. “Peter, which of us was it?”

“You seem like you already know,” Peter replies quietly, tears building in his eyes. “That message I showed you? It’s his - it was his last before - I’m not supposed to tell you.”

But the thing is, Peter doesn’t really have to paint the full picture because Steve already has an idea about what it is Peter’s neglecting to say, and it breaks his heart. He doesn’t even let himself think when he asks, “Is there a way to change his fate?”

Peter fidgets, shuffling back and forth from one foot to the other. Then, slowly, he nods.

Steve exhales. “Okay.” He swallows. “Okay, we’ll - we’ll figure that out later, but we keep this between us for now, you understand? If he asks about it, just - just say that you were trying to throw him off in case he started asking too many questions the day you met.”

Peter nods and holds up his pinky.

Steve’s taken aback by the familiarity of the gesture, and if he wasn’t sure before about Peter being his, he kind of is now. “Showed you that, did I?” he asks rhetorically as he wraps his own pinky finger around Peter.

“Nebula - uh! I mean, my older sister who shall remain nameless so that she can be named later, actually introduced me to it,” Peter explains with a small grin. “It’s a family thing. We all do it. We have our - we have language that's just ours, you know?”

Steve is unreasonably curious, and he knows he shouldn’t ask, but, “How many kids do Tony and I have?”

“Pops, uh, I mean,  _Steve_ - I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that,” Peter complains as they let each other go, their pinky promise going unspoken about keeping Tony’s future demise under wraps.

“Well how am I supposed to know how many it takes to get to you?” Steve retorts, taking immense pleasure in the sour expression Peter wears. “Hey, have I given you the talk yet?”

“Oh god, please,” Peter whines as he goes red. “Not again. Not _ever_.”

Steve feels his lips twitch at that before he sobers. “Seriously, Peter. How many?”

Peter frowns disapprovingly. Then it looks like he’s mentally counting before he says, “Six. Five Alpha girls and me. Dad and I are the only Omegas in the family. Sometimes I think we would have bonded over that.”

Steve whistles, amazed, but also thrilled, and then saddened again by what Peter has been deprived of. “We’ll work on that,” he promises again, feeling bad that they’d be concealing a pretty big secret from Tony, but he’d be damned if he just let it happen and didn’t even try to stop it. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I’ll work on … explaining this, I guess, to Tony and my Ma in the morning.”

Peter lights up at that. “That’s right. This is Nana’s house!” he exclaims excitedly. “It’s gonna be freaky to see her so young. I mean it’s freaky to see you like this when you - uh! I can’t say that. I shouldn’t tell you that. Just know this is blowing my mind.”

“Sure,” Steve says, unable to really keep up and a little bit distracted by his relief to know that his mother is still alive and well in the far away future. “You can take my old room, it’s just up the stairs. First door to the right.”

Peter nods as Little Ben climbs onto his shoulder, chirping happily at being reunited with the teen.

Steve heads inside and locks the door behind them once they are in the house. He watches Peter dart up the stairs and conceals himself in Steve’s old room. It’s not until he’s wandering past the kitchen does he remember the reason why he came up in the first place. He sighs and removes the plate he put in the microwave, the food as cold as when he first put it in and finds he’s too tired and anxious to even bother to try and reheat it again.

He slips back down to the basement and crawls into bed beside Tony, clutching him close and trying not to fret the arrival of the future.

He gets little to no sleep that night.

.

.

.

Peter stares at Tony.

Tony stares at Steve.

Steve keeps his eyes on Little Ben, who is perched on his Ma’s shoulder watching them all with curious chirps.

There’s a spread of breakfast food between them all from where they are seated at the long table in the dining room.

Steve is especially impressed by the red velvet pancakes, which Peter had insisted on making, mumbling something about ‘pancake wizards’ to his Ma when she’d tried to protest it but ended up throwing in the towel when Peter aimed his lethal puppy dog eyes and said ‘Nana, please - I’ll burn the eggs, so you've gotta do that part. The pancakes are the _only_ thing I know how to make right!’ and that had been that.

Speaking of eggs … Steve asks his Ma to pass the ketchup and his Ma shakes her head in disbelief but shoves the bottle so it goes sliding to the other end of the dining table where Steve is seated.

Steve watches the uncanny mirror Tony and Peter make when they wrinkle their noses in perfect sync in reaction to the way Steve drowns his eggs in ketchup and he’s struck with all sorts of feelings similar to familial pride and fondness rolled into one. 

Amazingly, his next thought comes easily to him without an ounce of hesitation: _I’d die the most tragic, fiery death for these two and wouldn’t spare a thought to hesitating if it meant keeping them safe and happy for the rest of their lives._

“How can you eat?” Tony exclaims incredulously, his side of the bond bursting in oranges and whites. “Don’t tell me you believe this kid!”

“I do,” Steve says calmly. “And I can eat because I’ve had enough time to adjust and accept it. He’s ours, Tony. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. You’ve scented him already, you know I’m right.”

Tony looks really skeptical and stubborn.

“Should I explain it all again?” Peter asks quietly from where he’s sitting across from Tony. “I can explain it again.”

“No this is where you zip it because the adults are talking!” Tony snaps and Peter flinches. Tony grimaces when he sees it, suddenly looking sick that he’d yelled at his own son, and takes a moment to compose himself. “I - I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. This is - it’s a lot to process.”

“I know,” Peter says quietly with sad eyes - _Tony’s_ eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to inconvenience you.”

Tony makes a wounded sound. “Okay, damn it, stop it with that look. My god, that’s lethal. I believe you, alright? But only because of Little Ben. Who else but me would make such a great gadget for my own kid?” he boasts and Steve huffs as his Ma shakes her head as she continues to watch it all unfold while she silently drinks her coffee. She seems to be taking it well but his Ma has always been flexible about the unexpected. Tony continues, “So. We need to get you home safe and sound, huh? I’m sure future me is beside himself worrying about you. I may not understand the exact science of it, but I understand that any sort of ripple, even the smallest, can have a huge impact. The only reason I think we aren’t imploding now is because this has already happened, or was meant to in the grand scheme of things. So, we’re fine for now. Hand over the gizmo, kid. Let me see what I’ve done.”

Peter nods and passes over his time-watch eagerly.

“Hey, come on, not at the table, Tony,” Steve protests when his husband begins trying to pry it apart. “Let’s eat and then you can do all that.”

Tony pouts but shoves the watch aside as Peter watches them like he's setting the scene to memory. Then Tony glances to Peter and says, “So how successful am I in the future?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“I think you should since you made up that fib about me being dead,” Tony counters, pointing the end of his fork at Peter who flushes and glances nervously at Steve.

Steve returns it subtly, hoping it communicates that he should tread carefully.

Peter looks away and then says, “I can’t tell you that, but I guess you can say that you aren’t, like, a _failure_ or anything.”

“I’ll take it!” Tony crows, looking quite pleased with himself. Then he pauses as though something just occurred to him. “Steve. Steve, we win.”

Steve is confused and he’s sure it shows.

“Steve, we _win_ ,” Tony repeats with a manic giggle. “We have kids! We’re still married! We _win_.”

“Oh,” Steve weakly replies because Tony is right. He hadn't thought about that. If they stay together long enough to have _six kids_ then that means they somehow manage to outmaneuver both Tony’s parents and his ex-godfather. “Yeah, honey. We win.”

Tony looks infinitely cheered and pleased, going back to eating and grilling Peter for more info about their future, to which Peter carefully evades and dodges by answering in vague opposites without really giving anything away. 

After a while, when they've migrated to the living room, Steve realizes that Tony isn’t seriously fishing, he’s just messing with their son, and Peter must know this too because he’s grinning as his answers become more and more outlandish that it’s obviously not true.

“So you’re telling me, I win the Nobel Peace Prize for proving, without a doubt, that the Moon doesn’t exist and it’s never existed, but is actually the longest record of mass hysteria?” Tony looks endlessly amused while he asks.

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter replies, playing along from where he’s sitting on the living room floor with his legs crossed under him like a pretzel, Little Ben perched contently on his shoulder as they both watch the way Tony carefully reverse engineers his time-watch over the coffee table. He’s watching Tony with a sort of star-struck awe that Steve doesn’t think Tony notices, but Steve does, because it’s the kind of look he gets himself when he’s going through the old photos of his Da.

Steve is curled up in the armchair off to the side, watching both of them with a humored smile as he navigates his way through a few freelancing websites he bookmarked back in the day geared towards artists who are offering their skills for hire. He updates his profile on all of them and makes them active, hopeful that he can attach himself to a few projects to keep some sort of income coming for him and Tony … and now Peter it seems.

God, it boggles his mind every time he remembers that the fourteen-year-old Omega eagerly assisting Tony with labeling and expanding his understanding of the time-watch, is _their_ son - Peter Benjamin Rogers. 

Steve has to admit, he likes the name. It’s a sturdy name. Oh god, hold on. He has an _Omega_ son. “Peter, you aren’t dating anyone are you? Not that it’s - but your fourteen. Am I letting you date at fourteen? I feel like that’s too young to be - but are you? How do you handle - when was your last Heat? When is your next one?”

Peter blanches before looking supremely embarrassed. “Po _\- Steve._ God, not this again,” he groans, hiding his red face into his hands.

Tony laughs and laughs, clutching at his sides before he calms down long enough to wipe some imaginary tears from his eyes. “I was wondering when that would hit you,” he snickers.

Steve knows he’s being unreasonable, but the thought of anyone even looking at his Omega son at all sets his teeth on edge. Peter is his son and that absolutely means something to him. It means he will protect Peter to the very last fragment of his power. He will stand before Peter should danger come his way, and remain beside him as he find his footing. “Peter,” he says, before he can even help it. “Peter, when -”

Peter groans again, cutting him off, and mumbled something.

“What was that? Say that again with a little less hand in the way,” Steve urges, ignoring when Tony snorts and shakes his head in exasperation.

“I _said,_ ” Peter exaggerates after dropping his hands. “I haven’t had one. Ever. I’m - you know. A late bloomer.” He suddenly goes red again, looking mortified by this whole conversation. “Can you excuse me for a minute?” and he quickly scuttles away before either of them can respond.

“Cool,” Tony says and gives Steve a look. “Good job, daddy.”

Steve ignores the way it makes him feel to hear Tony call him that and stands to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him,” he decides.

“Oh no, no, no. You talking is what got you into this mess. And they say I’m a handful. You, Rogers, are succumbing to all those little protective Alpha instincts, which makes you about as useful as a blind low-flying duck.”

“Did you just - are you calling me stupid?”

“Asking me that question is stupid. Keep up. You know I think the world of you. I’m saying that as an Alpha, there are just some things you don’t get. Like Omega-speak. It’s not that what you said was wrong, per se. It’s just that you were _too blunt._  You’ve gotta soften questions like that, even if you are coming from a good place, which I know you are because I know you. And Peter knows you too, at least some futuristic version of you, but that doesn’t make it any less mortifying to hear your dad come out of nowhere and ask about your Time. That’s like me asking which hand you use to aim while you piss in the middle of dinner with all your family and friends.”

Steve flushes, uncomfortable. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. So, allow this veteran Omega to take the lead,” Tony says, standing. “It’ll give me a chance to feel him out, or undo the damage I did by snapping at him earlier. God, it still makes me sick to think I talked to him like how Howard would have talked to me.”

“You apologized,” Steve points out because Tony needs to know that he’s nothing like Howard. “Right after. You said sorry. Not a lot of parents take immediate responsibility like that when they know they are wrong.”

“Yeah,” Tony slowly agrees. “My parents have never apologized for anything.”

Steve can absolutely believe that.

“This’ll be good practice, I think,” Tony goes on to say, closing in on Steve, who’s still on his feet. “It’s like we get to field test being a parent with our own kid.”

Steve can’t quite disagree with that and huffs when Tony kisses him on the cheek before shoving him back down into the armchair. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you run interference. I’ll work on apologizing for being pig headed and insensitive.”

“Good idea,” Tony agrees with a fond grin. “Also, if he’s anything like me, he’ll appreciate a verbal apology and an apology in the form of food.”

“Is that so?” Steve knows he shouldn’t fall for it, but he feels really bad about upsetting Peter so, yeah, he’s going to fall for it. “I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?”

“Rainbow bagel,” Tony answers before Steve can even get the question out and yup, he’s definitely getting gotten here. “Get a dozen, you know, just to be sure that’ll be enough.”

“Yeah, sure, sure,” Steve agrees sarcastically but gets up to make the trip. “You’ll put in a good word for me, right?”

“No worries, Cap. I will use only the best words possible,” Tony swears with an impish grin. “He will be singing your praises by the time I’m done.”

.

.

.

Peter actually comes to find Steve after the Alpha drops the box of rainbow bagels at the door of his old room like some kind of archaic peace offering, not wanting to disturb the two Omegas inside, who seemed to still be in deep conversation.

Steve’s sitting on the porch swing, sketching his old neighborhood while he texts Sam between that, bringing him up to speed (and leaving any mention of Peter out of it), when the young Omega comes shuffling his way shyly. Steve, having learned his lesson, is slow to say anything, letting Peter take the lead.

Peter sits down at a polite distance beside Steve, looking out into the neighborhood quietly. Then he says, “Thank you for the bagels.”

Steve smiles at how polite he is, glad for it actually, it means he’s not such a failure as a father. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

Peter nods, brow furrowing with thought for a moment.

Steve continues, “You know, I was fourteen when I had my first Rut.”

Peter snorts, looking deeply amused. “I know. We’ve had this conversation already. And yes, I know being a late bloomer is not the worst thing. Everything happens in it’s own time, so on and so forth.”

“Right.” Steve shakes his head with a light laugh. Trust him to use the same tactics. “So, Peter. What do you like to do for fun?”

“I like chemicals,” Peter says simply. “Also photography. I used to flip through dad’s old photo albums and the pictures always made me feel like I was there. Actually, it’s because of dad’s albums we were able to take more accurate jumps.”

“Because he labels them with the time, date, and location,” Steve adds knowingly and Peter huffs before nodding. “Glad to hear he keeps that going, and that you found a passion from it. Tell me more about the chemicals. I’m guessing you’ve inherited all your smarts from Tony.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, Po - Steve. You’ve contributed at least thirty percent.”

“Thirty?” Steve laughs and Peter beams, seeming proud that he managed to cause that reaction. “That’s mighty generous.”

“Uncle Bucky’s the one that came up with that estimation, just so you know. I had nothing to do with it.”

Steve laughs harder, not even the least surprised to hear that.

“But,” Peter continues, taking on that excited, giddy air Tony gets when he’s explaining his latest project. “Chemicals, right? Recently I’ve been working on a formula to advance the flexibility in the mechanics of adhesives and sealants …”

Steve draws, finding inspiration in the way Peter’s eyes light up as he talks, eager, ready to understand and be understood. He listens as Peter goes on and on about his latest project, talking a mile a minute with his hands. 

Eventually, Peter calms down enough to notice that he’s been talking for hours, that’s it’s basically dinnertime, and he seems genuinely surprised by that. He shoots Steve a slightly sheepish look. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were talking, it’s rude to interrupt.”

“No, I mean why didn’t you tell me I was rambling?”

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve admits with a concerned frown.

“But I was! You could’ve reeled me in. I get carried away sometimes,” Peter says, picking at a loose thread from the borrowed jeans he’s gotten from Tony. “People usually stop me while I’m ahead because they know I can get carried away.”

“Didn’t have a reason to stop you. I asked you to tell me about your passions, so I knew what to expect. You’re really no different than what I’m used to with Tony. I don't mind it.”

Peter gives him this look that’s a mutant child between incredulous confusion and fond disbelief.

Steve wants to be wrong, but he has to ask, “Do I not … show you attention?”

Peter’s eyes widen and he quickly looks away. “It’s not - you’re just, you know, busy,” he replies vaguely. "The job you have is really important and it - it keeps you busy."

“I’m too busy to listen to my son talk about his interests?” Steve counters with a clenched jaw.

Peter grimaces. “It’s okay. It’s really not as bad as you think,” he protests quietly. “After dad died, you sort of … you say I remind him of you. It’s … hard for you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes, snapping his sketching pad shut. “You deserve more than that, Peter. I’m so sorry that, that version of me has his head too far up his ass that he can’t even appreciate what he still _has_. Christ, I mean, I understand grieving but that’s - there’s no excuse for that.”

Peter says nothing, still wearing that guilty expression.

Steve makes a pledge right then and there to be better, to _do_ better - the best that he can by Peter, by any of his future children. For now, he leaves it alone. He says, “Why don’t we go inside and warm up some leftovers? Make Tony come up for air and get his recommended calories.”

Peter nods, his smile is a fraction of what it could be. 

Steve still treasures it and vows to keep trying to outdo himself until he can get Peter to smile so big that his cheeks hurt with it. He gets a sudden thought and says, “Actually, why don’t you go ahead and lure him out? I just remembered I need to catch up with an old friend.”

There’s barely any hesitation when Peter agrees, if anything, he seems eager to horde some of Tony’s time and attention for himself.

Steve slips inside after him and makes a beeline down to the basement to their room, taking the time to search through Tony’s belongings for a certain business card. He tries not to feel too guilty over what he’s about to do - but desperate times as they say. He dials the number.

It rings and rings and rings.

Then - “ _Nashville Crematorium! You kill ‘em, we grill ‘em - how can I direct your call? Just joking, stranger. Hammer here. Talk to me, mystery phone number._ ”

Steve clears his throat. “Ah - Mr. Hammer. My name is Steve Rogers.”

_“How can I help you, Steve Rogers? I don’t recall giving you my private line, unless - are you the brunette gymnast from Vegas?”_

“No. I’m - Tony Stark is my husband.”

 _“Well,”_ Hammer sighs, sounding very intrigued. _“You’ve certainly got my attention, Mr. Rogers. Tell me what you need. You’ve got maybe ten minutes before I’m called back to sit through this very dull hearing I’m at.”_

“Oh - should I call back? I don’t mean to disrupt your -”

_“I have to insist that you please do, Mr. Married to Tony Stark. Besides, it’s nothing important. Like I said, just some minor, really boring verbal jousting with the Senate Armed Forces Committee.”_

Steve balks. “That doesn’t seem minor at all.”

 _“Potato, tomato. I’ll get my very lovely and patiently understanding PA, Ms. Everhart, whom is glaring at me now as we speak, to hold them off._ ” There is definitely some furious female whispering frantically in the background but Hammer seems to be cheerfully ignoring it. _“Now, what’ve you got for me?”_

Steve takes a deep breath to steel himself, and then he starts from the beginning.


	23. YEAR 1: PART VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - happy friday the 13th 😈

“I really don’t know,” Peter replies in response to Tony asking him for the millionth time what the formula is behind how the time-watch works. They were in the living room, surrounding Sarah’s small coffee with the time-watch strewn out into a sea of pieces and parts between them. Peter continues, “Da - Tony, think about it. If I knew I wouldn’t have taken the risk to out myself to you and Po - Steve.”

It bothers him. Tony doesn’t know why Peter calling him and Steve by their first names bothers him. It _shouldn’t_ bother him as much as it does but the thing is that it just _really_ bothers him. Yet at the same time, it’s too weird for him to try and field ‘dad’ at his age when he hasn’t even bypassed the whole ‘nine-month’ gestational period. He's agitated, restless, trying to make sense of what his relationship should be with Peter at this stage.

He's trying to be more of a friend, keeping a polite distance, but then Peter will look at the space between them, he will see the gap Tony is trying to create and his brow will furrow with such disappointed yearning that slices into his heart like a sharp knife cuts through soft fruit. God, he doesn't know what to do about  _that_ look. He's too reluctant to try because at the end of the day, Peter can't stay. Why should he let either of them get attached when that fact remains?

“Tony?”

Tony blinks, snapping out of his thoughts and yup, that still grates at him. He says, “Yeah, no, sorry. Just … thinking about something. But, fine. I believe you when you say you can’t offer me much insight on anything other than the physical parts of your gizmo.”

“ _Time-watch,_ dad,” Peter stresses before flushing adorably, all the way up to his ears and it makes Tony want to cradle the kid close and smoosh his cheeks together until Peter complains about the attention. “Ah, Tony. I meant Tony. Sorry. I know it must be like super weird to hear me call you that.”

Tony has mixed feelings so he shrugs. “I’m not gonna have a heart attack, kid. It’s not a big deal. I mean, I am, you know, technically, your Oma.” And geez now they’re blushing together.

Peter’s blush is more one born of fondness, brown eyes glimmering beautifully.

It nearly brings tears to Tony’s eyes. He manages to muscle through it to say, “Yeah, so, I just might have to put a pause on fixing your time do-hickey.”

“ _Time-watch_. Why is it so hard for you to say time-watch? That’s literally what _you_ named it.”

“Correction: that’s what I _will_ name it. I’m still in that ever precious experimental phase. You know, stretching my wings, trying different labels on for size.”

“Right,” Peter agrees flatly and it thrills Tony to see that he’s got Steve’s sense of humor. “You’re absolutely right. Who am I to deny you the innovation? Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Tony snaps his finger and points. “Exactly that. But back to my original point, which is that I’m gonna build you a phone.”

Peter chokes on his own spit, exclaiming, “Dad! _Tony!_ You - you can’t just - you shouldn’t -”

“Let you be too grateful for my goodwill?” Tony quickly interjects, narrowing his eyes. “I’m sure that’s what you were dying to say and not anything stupid like me wasting energy on my future fourteen and a half year old son, right? Tell me that’s not what you were going to say because we both know that if you're my kid then you’ve got brains. I'd be willing to bet that you even qualify for Mensa.”

Peter’s face goes through a series of interesting facial expressions before he looks away, hiding a flattered grin behind the guise of scratching his nose. “I'm holding out for MIT actually,” he mumbles.

Tony is startled into laughter at his quick wit.

Peter beams, just for him, and it fills Tony with such sentimental warmth that he finds himself wanting to scent mark Peter as his own so the whole world knows. 

His hands twitch but other than that Tony doesn’t give in to it. He says, “So what did you come to tell me?”

Peter frowns and the little thoughtful furrow of his brow makes Tony smile fondly before he can help it. He says, “I came to tell you something?”

“Seemed like it before I bombarded you with questions that are apparently of the rhetorical variety.”

“Oh!” Peter’s face brightens with clarity. “Steve asked me to grab you for dinner.”

Tony snorts. “Did he? How perplexing. I swear that man acts like he’s got a crush on me or something.”

Peter snickers incredulously. “You’re married!” he exclaims like he sincerely thinks the older Omega needs reminding.

“Are we? And yet it doesn’t explain why he’s so obsessed with me,” Tony drawls, taking great pleasure in the way it gets Peter to burst into these little delighted giggles.

“How sweet. You both look cozy,” Sarah comments as she waltzes from around the corner from the backdoor with Little Ben on her shoulder and a pair of dirt-streaked garden gloves on her hands. “Peter, darling, come help a frail old woman pick a few plums for some spiced rice pudding. I’m in the mood to spoil us all.”

“Okay,” Peter replies, perking up eagerly and standing to his feet. He tugs Tony to his feet as well without a second thought. Then he’s following Sarah out the backdoor as Little Ben leaps to his shoulder. "By the way, how funny does that sound? Spiced rice.  _Spiced_ rice." He continues to chant it until he's no longer in earshot.

Tony is left alone, wondering to himself if he should heat up the entirety of the leftovers for everyone’s sake. But then he grimaces when he thinks about all the ways that could go wrong. He doesn’t have the deftest hand when it comes to cooking. He decides he doesn’t want to risk it and goes in search of Steve.

Steve is in their bedroom downstairs, quickly sliding his phone in his pocket with this look of self-satisfaction when Tony walks in.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Tony remarks curiously with a grin.

Steve tries to fix his face and play it off with a shrug, even though his side of the bond is still bursting at the seams with orangish pinks and reddish-orange. “Ah, just checking the weather for the rest of the week,” he simply says. “Ma wants me to clear out her garage for some yard sale this weekend? Stuff’s tough to do on its own but you add some rain to it and then it’s a real miserable time.”

Tony doesn’t quite believe him but he knows that if it’s super important, Steve will eventually tell him. “You have fun with that,” he replies. “So, I’ve come to humble myself and ask for help.”

“How can I be of service?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of their bed.

“By guiding me through warming up leftovers.”

Steve laughs. “Pop it in the microwave. I know you know how to use a microwave. I watched you take apart mine and put it back together to work better than it did before.”

“No, I’m talking like the whole thing. I can’t just put the glass tray in the microwave.”

“Oh.” Steve nods, considering. “Yeah, that’s more of an oven thing. I see what you mean. Yeah, I’ll show you how to do that. Ma’s oven is a bit dodgy and old. Maybe older than me.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’ve seen that geriatric beast.”

Steve stands with a laugh, teasing, “Oh no, don’t let Ma hear you say a bad language word about her precious kitchen space.”

“I’m not an idiot, Steve. This is why I’m complaining to you. How pissed would she be if I tinkered?”

“Zero percent. She was just telling me the other day how she was considering roping Little Ben into fixing her toaster. You wanna dish out some upgrades? Ma’s not gonna be the one to stop you.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound at that, already making plans and blueprints in his mind. He says, “By the way, no big deal, but I made Peter laugh really hard at something I said. Last time I checked you were, where? Groveling with rainbow bagels, I believe.”

“Oh is this a competition?” Steve laughs as he follows Tony up the steps to the kitchen.

“What else is parenting but a popularity contest? If we continue our tradition of negotiations then I need the house vote to be on my side.”

“Honey, that’s just devious,” Steve drawls, sliding his hands over Tony’s shoulders when they reach the oven. Then, he sweeps his palms down the outside of Tony’s arms with pointed scent marking. “Gonna turn all our kids against me, huh?”

Tony shivers under the attention, thoughts going a little bit hazy and it takes him a minute to realize that Steve’s doing it on _purpose._ “C-cheating!” He stammers, turning when Steve loops his arms around his waist to pull him close. He weakly pushes Steve away. “This is - this is cheating.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not playing fair so why should I?” 

Whatever Tony would’ve replied gets lost in the press of Steve’s lips against his own, tongue swiping across his lower lip with slow precision, full of intent, seductive. It makes Tony release a few pheromones as he groans before getting a grip to try and push Steve away with feeble protests.

“It’s just us, honey.”

“Your mom and our son could literally walk in any second! You wanna scar them for life?”

“S’just a little kissing. Not like I’m eating you out on the dining room table.”

“ _Rogers!”_ Tony exclaims loudly, scandalized at the very thought, even if his gut tightens at the visual while his cheeks turn scarlet. “Something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Maybe but my point is that we can kiss all we want. We’re married and in love,” Steve continues as he sways them gently to some unheard song he must hear in that big, dopey romantic head of his. “And besides, how do you know that Peter’s not already used to how affectionate I am with you?”

Tony smiles grudgingly at the thought, cheeks still red. “Oh? You think you’ll still want me even when I’m old and grey?”

Steve’s gaze turns deep and serious in an instant, a look that’s so absolutely sure that it makes Tony nearly catch his breath as butterflies explode in his chest. He says, “I think we both know I’ll _always_ want you, Tony.”

Tony’s so moved and humbled by the promise that he doesn’t resist when Steve pulls him into another toe-curling kiss backed by the energy of sincere passion and love.

Yeah, okay, maybe it does feel really nice to kiss his husband with an unspoken expectation that it’s just for affirmation of their feelings for each other without it really leading anywhere.

Also, Steve must be right about Peter's immunity because he walks in on them and doesn’t bat an eye before rolling his eyes with a sweet smile. “Geez, leave some space for Jesus,” he pretends to complain. 

Steve perks up as he pulls away but keeps holding Tony close and he replies, “Why? Did he say something to you? What did he say? Tell me everything. I’m freaking out. Does he like, you know, like me or _like_ me like me?”

Peter barks out a laugh and Tony rolls his eyes at the smug look his husband shoots his way. He doesn’t say it out loud but they’re basically tied and that both amuses and annoys Tony.

“Don’t encourage him, kid. He’ll actually think he’s funny,” Tony remarks placidly, yelping when Steve pinches his thigh. Tony slaps his arm. “Hey, no! No.” He points sternly. “ _No._ ”

Peter’s amusement intensifies. 

Tony twists away and starts stabbing a finger against different buttons on the oven so he can figure out what they do by trial and error.

Steve kisses at his neck, hugging him chest to back with an affectionate squeeze before he drops his forehead to Tony’s left shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with mirth. “Why did you drag me up here if you were just gonna do that?” he complains, voice wobbly with barely restrained laughter.

“Because I like your pretty face,” Tony mutters absentmindedly as he continues to make the stove sing. “Okay, seriously, help me out here. How do I turn this on?”

“Oh my _god._ ” Peter is smiling so wide, all warmth and fondness as he shakes his head at them both. “You both are such dorks. I’m going back outside. Nana wouldn’t do this to me.”

Steve’s laughter follows Peter out and Tony likes the way it feels against his back, like he can feel it in his own chest because Steve’s laughing so hard he’s practically sharing it with Tony.

Tony’s not sure he’s ever felt anything as lovely as that. Nothing really compares.

.

.

.

Tony has been banished to the dining room to set the table after a really tiny incident with the stove that may or may not have something to do with Tony almost burning off his own eyebrows after sticking his head in the oven to see how it works from an internal standpoint. 

Steve had lectured him for nearly fifteen minutes about the merits of safety in the kitchen.

Tony had tuned out the parts that were less interesting, but can confidently say that he knows how a fire extinguisher is supposed to work, as well as the damages and chaos that gas can cause when it’s given free reign outside of the oven.

So, yeah, in the end, Steve is handling the leftovers while he grumbles about how Tony is going to give him grey hairs before he reaches the age of thirty.

Tony just grins and continues to set the table, keeping his thoughts to himself as he imagines what Steve would look like and is impressed but unsurprised when he finds the idea intriguing instead of off-putting. He knows without really knowing that his Alpha will age beautifully, and he, for one, can’t wait to see it.

Peter and Sarah reappear with streaks of dirt all over them but satisfied and proud grins as they waltz towards the kitchen sink to dump the armful of freshly picked plums for washing.

Tony listens with an amused smile as Steve asks, quite eagerly, if Sarah was planning on making her infamous pudding before sighing like a lovesick fool when she confirms. He wonders if he should be jealous that his husband is acting smitten over a dessert he’s never even heard of, but then he remembers that this is Steve - a man who would visit a local stand _three times_ in one day just for some specialty mango. 

He decides to be amused instead and wonders if he can convince Sarah to teach him how to make it so he can surprise Steve with it one day. He adds that to his growing list: bread, eggs, spiced plum rice pudding. In the meantime, he decides to tackle something he _does_ know how to make, which is pink lemonade, shouldering past Steve to ask Sarah where she keeps her pitchers.

After he tracks down a traditional glass pitcher with Sarah’s guidance, he watches as Sarah hustles Peter out of the kitchen so they can clean up for dinner, to which Peter only puts up a token protest, claiming to want to help Tony make pink lemonade since it was his favorite. Yet another thing he seems to have in common with Steve besides sharing their Alpha’s sense of humor.

“Try this,” Tony requests, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the kitchen following Sarah and Peter’s exit some minutes ago. He’s holding up a big mixing spoon to Steve, who has Little Ben on his left shoulder while they both examine the progress of the leftovers through a partially opened oven door.

Steve pushes the door back and wanders over, ducking down to sip as Little Ben watches them both curiously like he’s trying to make sense of some strange human custom. He says, “It’s good.”

“Steve.”

“What?” Steve laughs, overlapping his fingers over the wrist that Tony's using to hold up the wet spoon near Steve's mouth to keep it there. He squeezes affectionately before letting go. “It’s fine. I promise.”

“I probably should’ve asked someone who would be honest with me,” Tony complains, turning away, and smiling when Steve crowds in behind him to kiss at his neck while Little Ben web-slings his way to the dining room. “You’re never objective when it comes to me.”

“Well that’s true,” Steve agrees, burying his nose into one of Tony’s scent glands along his collarbone while his arms circle Tony’s trim waist. “But since Ma and Peter are involved, it’s better safe than sorry. It’s good. Don’t - no come on, don’t add more sugar. It’s gonna be too sweet. It's really good, I swear.”

“Fine.” Tony lowers the bag of sugar and goes back to mixing before he lets it settle, slicing a few lemons to coast together with the handful of ice he’s included. He nudges Steve away to bring it to the dining room.

Peter shows up first, wearing more of Tony’s borrowed clothes, a MIT hoodie and some sweats; the kid liked to be comfortable, that much is clear. 

Tony doesn’t mention that Peter seems to favor wearing his things, more so than any of Steve’s. It makes him wonder if Peter finds his scent that soothing. Either way, Tony only has so many clothes he can lend. He’ll have to take Peter shopping for his own since it seemed that Peter would be around for quite a while until they could get this time-watch fiasco figured out.

In the meantime, he watches the fourteen-year-old Omega make a beeline for the pitcher of pink lemonade, downing two cups before Sarah playfully scolds him for reaching for a third when she reappears, freshly dressed in a light t-shirt, overalls and bare feet - her red hair flowing freely all around her shoulders in deep waves and unfinished curls.

“Food should be done any moment,” Steve announces from the kitchen.

Sarah nods to acknowledge it as she sits down with a content sigh at the head of the table with Peter to her immediate left.

Tony sits across from Peter and traces his eyes over Peter’s round face, picking out the different features that he thinks belongs to either him or Steve. He doesn’t really mean to stare but it’s funny that Peter is pretending he doesn’t notice, even as he smiles shyly at Sarah while they talk more at length about Sarah’s cozy little garden in the back.

Tony has a half-hearted thought that he’ll have to go see it for himself when something strange happens.

It starts with the cutlery trembling, followed by the sound of helicopter wings chopping through the air loudly.

Then the doorbell rings.

All of them look at each other with the same question on their faces - which of them is expecting company?

“I’ll get it,” Tony decides, pushing away from the table with the slightest concern that it could Howard or Maria or, god-forbid, Obie. He’d rather face one of them first before letting them anywhere near his family. The walk to the front door is a bit of a somber one, and when he looks through the peephole, he blinks in surprise before unlocking and opening the door. He’s met with a wall of sound from the helicopter that’s idling in the street. “What are you doing here?” he shouts over the noise.

Hammer looks absolutely delighted to see him. He throws his arms out and exclaims, “Anthony!” Then he says, “What?”

Tony shoots him a look, knowing that Hammer heard him. Still, he repeats, “What are you doing _here?_ ”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t really even - hold on.” Hammer turns away to walk to the top of the porch steps and uses two fingers to whistle sharply. “Vanko! Buddy! You gotta take the chopper up! You’re making too much noise! Can’t even hear myself think!”

“This is because you don’t think!” the man named Vanko shouts back moodily, voice saturated with a heavy Russian accent. “Why you ask me land here? I tell you no good for landing! Not legal!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Love you too, Big Guy! I’ll see you in an hour!” Hammer shouts back, not even seeming to mind that people are gathering to make sense of the commotion before recognizing, excitedly, who has landed in their neighborhood.

Vanko glares at Hammer before narrowing his eyes at Tony. Then he seems to mutter something before glaring at the onlookers, who have pulled out their phones. “You take pictures and I break your tiny, fragile phones!” the Alpha growls warningly and people scamper away, frightened and intimidated.

“Aww, buttercup! You look after me so good!” Hammer shouts obnoxiously, laughing when Vanko gives him the middle finger before settling back into the active helicopter and taking to the sky again. 

Finally, there is peace and quiet.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asks the moment Hammer turns his way.

Hammer’s dressed in a finely pressed suit, wired framed glasses settled casually over the bridge of his nose as he cocks his head like everything about Tony is amusing to him. He says, “You never called. That does something to a guy’s ego, you know.”

“So you decided to stalk me instead,” Tony replies flatly. “And that’s not what I meant. I meant why are you _here_ when you’re supposed to be at a hearing with the Senate Armed Forces Committee?”

Hammer laughs, delighted. “Now who’s stalking who? How’d you know that?”

Tony gives him an exasperated look. “ _Everyone_ knows that. It’s been all the media outlets have been talking about for the past week,” he points out. “By the way, what did you do to be put on their shit list? Senator Stern is out for blood last I heard, and he’s a tough guy to rile. You must've been really bad this year.”

Hammer has the audacity to wear an ‘aw shucks, who me?’ expression as he scuffs the bottom of his expensive oxfords against the floorboard of the porch, looking every bit of the Tennessee native that he is. “Well _that,_  you know, that’s just a little misunderstanding. They seem to think that them and I have a difference of - well, no, it’s more that they seem to completely miss that we’re on the same side.”

Tony frowns. “That explains nothing.”

Hammer holds up both hands in the ‘peace’ sign. “Yeah, that’s what they kept saying to me, which is why I left. I’m giving them some space to cool down. Don’t worry about it, kiddo. I just want world peace, Anthony,” he swears with a shit-eating grin. “Now, are you going to invite me in for dinner or are we gonna go back and forth like this all night? I’m starving and I smell food.”

“Something’s wrong with you.” Tony steps aside and makes a gesture for him to come in because he has a feeling that Hammer won’t leave. “Hope you like tuna casserole.”

“Never had it but I’m sure I’ll love it,” Hammer remarks, waltzing to the dining room like he owns the joint. “My, what a lovely little home you’ve got here. Sarah Rogers, right?” He quickly makes a point to shake hands with the homeowner, oozing charm with a lecherous grin. “Aren’t you as pretty as peach? Justin Hammer. Please call me Justin.”

“Quite,” Sarah returns flatly with an amused frown but shakes hand. “How do you know me?”

“Well, I might have done a little research to get in the good graces of dear Anthony over there. I’m hoping to recruit him, you see. Mind like his would do wonders for my company.”

Steve stands when Hammer walks over to shake hands with him.

Tony notices they exchange this odd look between them but it’s gone before the Omega can really make sense of it.

Peter’s fidgeting excitedly in his seat, eyes wide like saucers as he watches the showy Alpha exchange pleasantries with Steve, snickering when Hammer throws some ‘finger-guns’ at him with a nod after Sarah introduces him as her foster child to save face.

Tony does not like the attention Hammer is paying his son at all. He says, “Yeah. Why don’t you sit over here?” He points to the far end of the table, which would isolate him from the rest of them.

Hammer doesn’t seem bothered at all. He sits down at the end of the table, looking at everything with great interest, like he’s in a museum, the same way Peter does from time to time.

It’s then that Tony realizes that Peter must be used to the same kind of wealth and privilege that Hammer is used to, that Tony once upon a time was as well. Huh, so the kid wasn’t lying when he said that Tony was anything but a failure in the future. That kind of fills him with a sort of satisfaction to know that he’s accumulated enough wealth and success to gift his kids with a comfortable life. 

For a while, no one says anything as food and drinks are passed around the table.

Tony’s trying to make sense of Hammer’s sudden appearance from where he’s sitting with Steve to his immediate left. Speaking of Steve, he doesn’t really seem bothered or concerned by the other Alpha’s unannounced visit. If anything, he appears to be as welcoming as Peter is acting. 

Tony shares a look with Sarah and is comforted when she smiles at him in the way that says she has no clue as to what’s going on either. That’s a relief.

“So, Mr. Hammer -” Sarah starts.

“Justin, please,” Hammer insists between bites of food. He moans. “Okay, who’s responsible for this?”

“That would be me,” Sarah continues with wry amusement.

Hammer whistles. “Beautiful and you know you’re way around the kitchen? How off-putting would it be if I proposed right now?”

Peter snorts.

Tony rolls his eyes.

Steve frowns disapprovingly.

Sarah laughs and waves him off. “You’re not my type, dear. I find dating my own too exotic. Besides, my heart will always belong to this one’s Oma,” she replies, nodding to Steve with a warm smile.

“Guy can dream,” Hammer retorts with a grin but backs off. “But, you’re all wondering why I’m here, so let me kill the anticipation before it grows into a monster. I want you to come work for me, Anthony. I don’t usually chase potential prospects like this, but you’ve got the - now how do they phrase it in the industry? You’ve got the ‘it’ factor. My R&D for clean energy is going to pieces, and I need more young and innovative minds like yours to keep hope alive. I’d be willing to offer just about anything short of my own soul to get you to come on board.” 

Tony gawks at him, merely because the Alpha is being absolutely serious. “You can’t - you can’t make offers like _that._  Do you _know_ who you are? Are you insane?”

“Nope. I’m a Scorpio.” Hammer’s grin widens when Tony makes a dying noise of frustration while Peter snickers under his breath, sobering quickly when Tony shoots him a look that begs the young Omega not to encourage him. “Let’s just say that this is my way of welcoming you back to the world of commerce.”

Tony wrinkles his nose in distaste at that and doesn’t bother commenting.

Hammer doesn’t seem to be looking for one. The Alpha just moves on by addressing the room as a whole, as though he’s sure that Tony will eventually give over to his whims. His confidence is both annoying and amusing. Though he does refrain from any touchy topics, leaning more towards science when Sarah mentions her garden and soon the two older Alphas are going back and forth through a serious thread about climate change.

“At this point, it’s a crisis,” Hammer agrees at the end of it all. “Which is why I’ve dedicated an entire R&D department for things like social responsibility and engineering gadgets that would promote sustainability. I mean, I don’t need to tell you that since we’re at an all time low with our population, we’re in an overabundance and all our resources fall to waste. We’ve got too much to give and not enough people to give it to. It’s screwing with our economy. You’d think market prices would go down.”

“Aye,” Sarah agrees. “That’s what I always say to the chefs at my shelter’s kitchen! Butchers these days are charging an arm and a leg for red meat. Worse than that for fish.”

Hammer’s eyes suddenly gleam with interest. “Tell me more about this shelter,” he encourages and Tony can literally see the investment wheels spinning.

Tony has to put a stop to this because there’s no way he’s gonna let Hammer bribe his mother-in-law with some random stipend he’s surely about to make up on the spot. “Well!” he quickly interjects before Sarah can offer. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Really, it’s getting late and we’ve wasted so much of your time, Mr. Hammer -”

“Justin,” Hammer insists.

Tony will never - can never call him by his first name. It’s like a trap or something, he knows it. “Mr. Hammer,” he presses, just to be contrary and rolls his eyes when Hammer simply looks amused and charmed by his stubbornness. “We are, of course, delighted by the sacrifice you made out of your busy schedule to sit with us, but I’m afraid I have to insist that we call it a night. We all have things we should be doing, and, you know, you’re kinda keeping us from that.”

Hammer just hums and narrows his eyes thoughtfully before he pulls out his phone, fingers moving over the screen expertly without him looking down at it once - the showoff. “I wont take up any more of your time,” he agrees, standing as he nods at everyone. “Walk me out, Anthony.”

Tony sighs because he should have seen that coming. “Fine,” he mutters as he stands, if only to speed up the entire process. Once they are outside the house, and Hammer has presumably called for his ride, he says, “It’d be a mistake. Taking me on.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, sharpshooter.”

Tony glares at him and continues, “Remember that non-conversation we had about me getting married, and how it was implied that it was without Howard’s blessing? Yeah, well he’s on a messy warpath. I have no Agency.”

“Yeah, I know,” Hammer merely says. 

“Do I want to know _how_ you know?”

“Talking circles. That kinda thing.” Hammer tucks his hands into the pockets of his sleek dress pants with a shrug. “Why’d you think I made this trip? Let me tell you something, kiddo - an Alpha’s got two things in this life: pride and gut instincts. You take one, you take the other. Standing up for yourself must have damaged Howard something awful on both sides. You come work for me, and I’ll help you hold the line. You and I both know I’ve got a vast amount of resources to match your old man tit for tat, and I’m not intimidated by that capitalist handlebar mustache wearing sleazeball. That’s all I’m saying. Okay, no, one more thing to say: I’m still doing better than him on Wall Street. We’re talking a thirty point difference.”

Tony doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does and it sounds a little strangled because as much as he wants to believe Hammer at his word, he’s just afraid.

“Hey, all I’m saying is that it’s his loss if he wants to be petty. I’d just like to help you recover and then some.” Hammer pauses as the sound of an oncoming helicopter gets louder and louder as it draws near. “You’d be helping me too, you know. Not only with my clean energy project, but with this little tricky clause my father’s left in his will. I need an heir, or I’ll be forced to abdicate. I’d rather not have to do that, and I like you.”

“You don’t know me!” Tony protests, floored by the offer.

Hammer smiles sadly. “Sure I do, Anthony. We’re two sides of the same coin.”

“This isn’t some kind of - of - social experiment! I’m not some little orphan kid you can just adopt.” Tony regrets making the comparison as soon as he sees the mischievous gleam in the Alpha’s eye.

“Little Orphan Annie!” Hammer crows, delighted. “Oh that’s gold, kid. I can be your Daddy Warbucks.”

“I am not - I will _never -_ ” Tony chokes on the words he wants to say.

Hammer just snickers and cuffs him on the chin, not minding when Tony slaps his hand away with a complaint. He says, “Just think about it, Annie. Outside of our secondary genders, you and I are more alike than you think.” and then he has the audacity to pat Tony on the top of his head before whistling a jaunty tune as he approaches his complaining Russian sky chauffeur.

Tony watches silently as the two Alphas fuss at each other back and forth before taking to the sky again. He doesn’t know what to think. He went from losing almost everything, to being offered that and then some.

Tony doesn’t mention the conversation when he returns inside but no one asks. Not Sarah nor Steve nor Peter. 

He almost wonders what his face looks like. He’s too afraid to locate a mirror and find out for himself, so he pushes the feeling down as deep as it can go and ignores it for now.

That night he doesn’t sleep. He works on building Peter’s phone with the help of Little Ben and doesn’t let himself think of anything else other than the task at hand.

.

.

.

Two days. 

No calls. 

No messages. 

No unexpected visits.

Tony hasn’t slept in all that time, too busy swimming in data and research. On the one side, he’s trying to unlock the secrets and mysteries behind what makes the time-watch tick, using the power of the internet to narrow down specific theories he thinks may help him unlock it all. On the other side, he’s researching everything he can about Hammer Industries and it’s eccentric CEO because if he’s gonna make a decision about this, he wants it to be as informed as possible. 

The main office, or HQ of the company, is located about fifteen blocks north of Stark Tower and based on the pictures they have on their website, the building is a steel tower with large mirror-like windows, but there’s something warm and inviting about it. He’s impressed with how many departments are displayed: from modern medicine all the way to the newly launched rideshare program. He’s only heard Howard mention the company in passing, mainly when he complains about how he refuses to let some backwater Alpha half his age upstage him during the winter holiday, which was always the busiest marketing time and when Howard needed to keep calm important investors and shareholders who are anxious about the year end annual reports. 

Tony even backtracks and pulls up different interviews with Hammer and his father from back in the day when Hammer was a rising star in his father’s company. There’s a certain degree of sternness always carved in Isaac Hammer’s face during those interviews, while the youngest Hammer always bore a cocky smile, but there was something sad and lonely in his eyes that Tony recognizes. It’s the constant weight of living up to your father’s expectations, even though you know you’ll never be good enough. He begins to wonder if maybe Hammer was right about them being alike. He thinks that if Isaac Hammer’s parenting style was anything like Howard’s, maybe they do have more in common than Tony thought.

He ponders that during the course of the next two days, weighing the pros and cons of becoming Hammer’s heir, the protection and resources it could afford him, thinking it might not be so bad. But at the same time, he hesitates over it, not willing to trust the goodwill of the older Alpha. He’s been burned before. He goes back and forth over it countless times in his head.

Oh but he’s properly fed and hydrated during that time. Sarah, Steve, and Peter make sure of that, even if the three of them kind of blur together after a while (he nearly suspects they are on some kind of schedule for him but he’s too sleep deprived to really confirm it for himself). He’s given lots of water, different things to snack on between meals, as well as coffee and energy drinks to keep him going, mostly by Little Ben, the loveable scamp - the spiderbot truly gets him. He’s never felt so taken care of during one of his binges nor so supported and understand before.

Seriously, Sarah and Steve go half and half on a mobile whiteboard for him so he can scribble out formulas to his heart’s content and it's like, how the hell did he get so lucky?

Peter takes different moments to hunker down with him in the dining room, which Tony has claimed as a makeshift work area for himself because of the space and the width of the dining room table. The kid seems hell-bent on keeping him company and offer his help whenever he suspects Tony needs it before Steve or Sarah urge the young Omega to bed when the situation (or mostly timing) calls for it. 

When Peter’s not doing that, he mostly works on small things like fixing Sarah’s toaster or building himself a laptop (asking Tony’s input from time to time, and preening under Tony’s half-manic compliments) or he’ll work on building some headphones for himself, as well as Tony when he finds out that the older Omega doesn’t have any for himself. 

The point is, it’s Saturday before he knows it and Miles and Gwen have come to collect him for their planned expedition to Hell’s Kitchen. 

“You forgot!” Miles exclaims like he’s upset but he looks way too amused by the chaotic nest Tony’s created in the dining room for that to actually be the case. “C’mon, Tony. We’ve been planning this for days.”

“I didn’t forget,” Tony lies and gestures to his right. “I was just telling Peter how excited I was.”

“Who’s Peter?” Gwen asks as she closes in on his whiteboard with a curious gaze.

“He’s my - I mean, he’s Sarah’s foster kid.” Tony looks around and realizes that Peter is nowhere in sight. Huh. When did that happen? He swears he was just talking to him. “Say, you didn’t happen to see a kid about my height, mechanical spider on his shoulder?”

“Yeah, I think I would’ve remembered that,” Miles remarks as he fiddles with one of Tony’s screwdrivers.

Sarah makes a quick appearance to say, “Peter’s in the garage. Steve snatched him up a while ago. They’re bringing the last of the junk to the curb for the yard sale.”

Oh yeah. Tony vaguely remembers the mention of such. God, it’s been a crazy 48 hours. Still, how dare Steve snatch the greatest assistant he’s ever had?

“So that’s what all the signs and tables and stuff was all about,” Miles comments. “How much do you want for the Nancy Drew novels, Ms. Rogers?”

“Give me a five and they’re yours,” Sarah promises with a wink before she exits again, muttering something about needing a calculator and a ledger. 

Miles fists pumps before he turns his attention back to Tony. “You totally forgot. Just admit it.”

“I admit nothing. But, just for Gwen’s sake, because you know how scatterbrained she is -” Tony ignores the indignant squawk aimed at him from where the blonde Alpha is eyeing the mess of numbers and symbols on his whiteboard. “- I think you should go over the plan one more time, you know, to make sure she understands.”

Miles laughs and says, “Yeah, just for that, _you’re_ gonna be Gwen’s guinea pig.”

Gwen scoffs. “You say that like you were ever an option.”

“Yeah, man, whatever. I didn’t wanna look like some _wack_ clown anyway.”

“Beep, beep, Miles.”

Tony may be sleep deprived, but that doesn’t make the scandalized face Miles makes any less hilarious. He’s nearly surprised the young Alpha doesn’t sprain anything.

.

.

.

So apparently the plan involves Gwen beating Tony’s face with high-end makeup because Luke Cage’s boxing club turns out to not be a boxing club at all, but an elite training club for acrobatic gymnastics and circus arts. It’s the kind of place that’s already churned out over a hundred impressive success stories, a dozen of which have to do with Olympic gold medals.

“So that’s the one thing I left out,” Gwen confesses absentmindedly, keeping most of her focus and concentration on perfecting his eyebrows. “I kinda had to use your old moniker to get us this appointment.”

Tony snorts, careful not to open his eyes because Gwen would probably scold him and flick his forehead again. “You told them Tony Stark wanted to join their cover front for assassins gym?”

“I swear to _god,_  on baby, I was thinking the same damn thing, bruh,” Miles quickly exclaims somewhere to his right, playing some game he called Roblox on his smartphone. 

“Don’t be a goof,” Gwen teases, to both of them. “And I didn’t _just_ tell him that Tony Stark was interested. Tilt your head.” Gwen applies highlighter on the highest arch of his cheeks. Then she continues, “I told them the Great and Illustrious Diva Anthony Edward Stark was _considering_ their club as a prerequisite to Juliard. They couldn’t clear their schedules fast enough.”

“Cunning,” Tony laughs.

“Why, thank you.” Gwen continues, "I will be playing the role of your bodyguard, while Miles acts as your PA."

Tony snorts but doesn't question it.

They’re all crammed into the half bathroom around the corner from the dining room.

After Tony had showered and groomed his hair, they had, upon Gwen’s insistence, decided she should do his makeup in there. She mumbled something about how the best makeup happened in a tight space. Neither Tony nor Miles understood what the hell she was talking about but they were also smart enough not to try and question it since she was the primary expert in this area. 

Gwen stands between his knees as he sits on the toilet.

Miles is swinging his legs from where he’s seated on the edge of the sink, the side of his knee brushes Tony’s shoulder in a comforting way.

Tony is forced to sit still for nearly an hour, and is only able to muscle through it because Gwen rewards him every five minutes with chocolate covered coffee beans. So, you know, it’s not all bad. 

“Actually, yeah, wow,” Tony stammers as he looks at himself in the mirror after Gwen thankfully declares that she’s finished. “How are you not getting paid to do this professionally?”

Gwen drapes herself over his shoulders from behind so she can laugh, loud and abrupt, in his left ear in a way that makes him shake her off as he slaps a hand over his ringing ear.

“ _Rude,_ Gwendolyn!” Tony exclaims with an offended glare. “Shockingly rude.”

“A thousand pardons,” Gwen drawls, slow and lazy, and ridiculously sarcastic. She’s packing up all her gear. “Come on, let’s hit the road. Either of you meatballs gotta pee, you better do it now cause I’m not pulling over later.”

“I’m good,” Miles says, following her out.

“Same,” Tony simply says, not far behind. He means to say his goodbyes on the way out but he can only find Sarah and Peter, who are out front, keeping track of all the purchases from the yard sale that's currently in full swing.

“You must’ve just missed him, da - Tony,” Peter quickly corrects himself, the top of his ears going red, even though it’s just them. He’s looking off to the side, over Tony’s shoulder at where Gwen and Miles are climbing into her car. There’s something in his expression that says he recognizes him, but there’s this strained look that Tony wants to ask about, and then not ask, afraid of the answer. He shakes his head and looks back to Tony to say, “Steve was just out here. I don’t know. He did say something about wanting to take a nap.” He shrugs.

Tony nods and decides to just text him, hovering awkwardly for a moment when something in him surges up and tempts him into scent marking Peter before he goes, needing to remind the world that this is his pup, that he’s got an Oma who wants him. His hands twitch at sides but he doesn’t give in to the instinct, swallowing dryly as he steps away, ignoring the flash of disappointment that passes over Peter’s face. It’s just that he’s - Peter’s not really his. Not yet. He doesn’t know how to - he can’t really let himself cross that boundary or get attached because, again, Peter can’t _stay_. 

Gwen is already laying in on the horn of her little white beetle car.

Tony rolls his eyes and waves one final time at Peter before he climbs in the back. But, just as he’s buckling himself in, he feels a familiar sensation in his gut. He says, “Okay … don’t kill me but I really have to go to the bathroom. I'll only be like five minutes.”

Miles snorts and Gwen just points a stern finger at him while saying, with transparent warning, “Makeup.”

Tony lifts both hands in a placating gesture before he slips out of Gwen’s car and back towards the house.

Tony dashes back to the house as quickly as he can, mindful of the car full of people still waiting for him at the curb. He sprints down to the basement since the half bathroom is currently occupied by some neighbor friend of Sarah’s. He doesn’t even pause to acknowledge Steve, who is lazing in bed, shirtless, playing Super Mario on his old childhood Gameboy he found when he was clearing out the garage. It hadn't worked at first until Peter got to it. Now Steve can't be pried away from it.

“Hey. Did you already go out? That was fast.”

“That’s because we haven’t really left yet!” Tony shouts from the bathroom before sighing as he empties his bladder. He flushes and goes to wash his hand and exit into the bedroom. “I had to pee really bad, and the place we’re headed to is quite the drive, so it was now or never.”

Steve seems to be barely paying attention to his words, more focused on his body, and then he’s scrutinizing Tony’s face to an intense degree that it makes Tony go hot all over. He knows that look all too well.

“Steve, no,” Tony warns, backing up towards the door but it’s too late. He’s being tugged sharply onto the bed, and rearranged under Steve with little ease. He tries his hardest to glare up at his grinning husband, fighting back an exasperated smile of his own. “I can’t do this with you right now. I told them I’d only be five minutes and I’ve already used up three of those minutes. I have to go.”

“So you’ll just run through here and run out without so much as a ‘how are you’ to the love of your life?”

Tony immediately scans him for weak spots with a flat stare.

“Thirty seconds of attention, honey, that’s all I’m askin',” Steve murmurs, voice dripping with sweet venom. “Haven’t seen you all day, nor have I gotten this much attention from you in the past two days. Then you strut in here looking so pretty and I’m just supposed t’ pretend I don’t wanna put my hands all over you, hm?”

Tony’s trembling under the bold yet affectionately possessive caresses and squeezes that Steve’s wandering hands give. “S-Steve, c’mon, I can’t stay.”

Steve lowers his head so their lips brush as he speaks, the contact whisper-soft, seductive and intimidatingly intimate as he says, “Thirty seconds.”

Tony laughs but it sounds breathless when Steve dips his head and starts sucking on his neck, worming his sneaky hands up Tony’s graphic tee to play with his nipples. “This d-does not feel like it’s g-going to take thirty seconds. _Fuck._ Steve. Come on. Let me up. You’re going to mess up my makeup. Gwen worked really hard. She’ll be pissed.”

“Yeah and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Steve says like the sarcastic little shit he is, pulling back to reach down and unbuckle his own belt with one hand.

Tony’s mouth waters at the sight, and he gets alarmingly wet in a matter of seconds. Then suddenly he’s blinking as the world shifts unexpectedly. Oh, wait, that’s just Steve putting him on his knees, face down. “F-fuck,” he stutters as Steve roughly tugs down his ungodly tight jeans. “Baby, my makeup,” he mewls, even as he pushes his hips back with eager anticipation.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Steve says, pressing forward and then _inward_ , so devastatingly slow that Tony’s eyes roll to the back of his head while his walls pulse around Steve, offering no resistance at all. “I’ll keep you decent.”

.

.

.

Tony climbs into the van, barefaced, hair wild, and guilty, a little over thirty minutes later. He clears his throat, focusing on buckling in as he ignores all those amused glances being sent his way. “So I’m good. We can - you know, start heading out now,” he says.

“What happened to your makeup, Tony?” Miles remarks with a wide grin as he wiggles his eyebrows.

Tony glares at him and slaps his arm as his face goes red.

Gwen gestures for Miles to take the wheel as she crawls in the back to open up her makeup kit again with a defeated sigh while Miles begins to pull from the curb. She says, “I cannot _believe_ you made us wait out here, ruining all my hard work, just so you could throw it back in a circle for your husband. Tisk, tisk.”

“That’s not - I wasn’t!” Tony’s whole face feels like it’s on fire as the two Alphas continue to laugh at his expense. “Can we just not talk about this? I would _love_ to not be talking about this right now.” He pulls out his phone to send his husband a few scathing texts that are only replied with winky faced emojis and lots of eggplant emojis as well as a dozen purple devil smirk emoji. He’s going to strangle that man when he gets home.

Gwen sternly tells him to be still as she gets to work on his eyebrows again.

Miles starts blasting a playlist he’s dedicated to a mashup of Lizzo and Megan Thee Stallion, who he termed as ‘the source of all his self-confidence’ and who ensures he gets his daily double serving of ‘respect Omega WOC juice’.

.

.

.

The trip out to Hell’s Kitchen takes longer than expected due to some streets being shut down for a local festival. So Miles has to do some out of route mileage to hit the freeway they need to get to Hell’s Kitchen.

To pass the time, while Gwen’s touching up his makeup, they talk about their deepest darkest fears, passing a box of Fiddle Faddle caramel popcorn between them as light mid-day snack.

Gwen starts, while giving Tony’s makeup the finishing touches, “Don’t laugh.”

Miles kisses the front of his teeth. “We ain’t gone laugh, ma-ma.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, keeping completely still despite the motion of the car. “We all started this by agreeing we wouldn’t laugh. Didn’t we make that promise? I remember us making that promise.”

Gwen chuckles fondly and shakes her head as she mists his face with setting spray. She says, “When I was nine, my godsister and I would be dragged every summer to our family cabin up in Vancouver. We got along just fine, my godsister and I. But this one particular summer, she had decided to become a vegan and thought it was okay to bully me for my food choices even though I respected hers.

“One night she snapped at us all for eating steaks as big as our heads, even though she _knew_ it was a tradition, you know? Like before we all went our separate ways, we’d do a food challenge like who could eat the most pies or hotdogs and that year it was steaks. My godsister wouldn’t have it and I’d been at the end of my rope. I remember saying ‘You’re such a hypocrite, Bobbie! I'll stop eating steak when you stop killing spiders.’ Yeah, I know, I know. It was an absurd thing - comparing cows to spiders. But Bobbie always thought arachnids were pure evil. To her, they're like a cigarette manufacturer or a terrorist. They're organized religion on eight legs.

“But not me. I’ve always been fascinated by them, always thought they were like beautiful little artists and experts in physics. Anyway, Bobbie rewarded my feedback by tricking me into thinking there was a camel spider in this tiny little shed you could barely turn this way or that way in and had no windows in the middle of the night. And it was far isolated from the cabin. She snatched the flashlight I had and locked me in there and left me stranded for hours, yelling in the dark until my voice was hoarse, thinking I’d die out there, never to be found. I haven’t been able to sleep in the dark ever since. I still need a nightlight.”

“Whoa,” Miles breathes amazed. “No offense, Gwen, but your godsister is a stone-cold bitch.”

Gwen laughs stiffly. “Trust me, I know. She still hasn’t apologized, and she's not even vegan anymore.”

Tony understands that kind of cruelty. “I’m sorry she put you through that,” he adds already making plans in his mind to make her a compact flashlight she can carry around with her all times in case of anything, but also for emotional support.

Gwen just smiles softly at him as she packs up all her makeup gear, unaware of his plans. “Thanks. Both of you. Feels kinda good to get that off my chest,” she admits.

Tony sighs and says, “Yeah, okay, when you put it like that … I’ll guess I’ll go next.” He takes a few minutes to gather the words he wants to say, “When I was four, there was a winter we spent at our Malibu mansion that had this pool that was about twenty feet deep all around. I used to like to drive this kid-sized black Mercedes I got that Christmas around the length and width of it. I’d got caught doing that a dozen times, got scolded by every adult and still did it anyway. I didn’t get the big deal. There was always a cover over it. And my mother would be out there sunbathing so it wasn’t like I was alone.

“Well one day, I guessed my mother had reached the end of her rope and complained to my father about how I was ruining her poolside meditation. And the next time my old man caught me doing it again, he decided he ought to teach me a longstanding lesson. He waited until I was six laps in before he snuck up on me and shoved me onto the cover. Far out on it that the weight of me and my car caused it to give and I started sinking. 

“I struggled to get my seatbelt off of me as I went down and down and down. Thinking about it now, I realize my father sabotaged it somehow so I’d have to struggle. The panic, I think, is the worse part before you get engulfed in that much water. The fight for survival comes as a second on the scale of how terrifying something can be. And lastly, the fear that creeps in when you realize that no matter how hard you try, you’re going to _have_ to take a breath. Howard pulled me out at the last possible second before I reached that stage. I haven’t tried to swim ever since. Can't really. I sink like a stone every time, mostly from fear.”

“ _Que carajo_ ...” Miles breathes, sounding as horrified as he looks from the angle Tony can see him at.

Gwen grabs his hands, which he didn’t even realize had begun to shake while he was telling his tale and still _hasn’t stopped_ since.

Tony’s just grateful he isn’t crying but his cheeks still go red with a sort of shame. He feels vulnerable, like he's showing wounds and scars he's kept hidden all this time.

“I had no idea you - that’s so awful how - have they always … God, I’m so sincerely sorry that happened to you. Is this why you and Steve …?”

Tony smiles weakly. “It’s complicated but yeah, I didn’t exactly get my parents blessing for my union. They never liked when I tried to make my own decisions. I don’t care though. Not about that or any of it, or what they put me through because it - it led me to Steve. And he’s … he’s _everything_ to me.”

“I get it,” Gwen promises, squeezing his hands affectionately and scenting him like a dear friend.

Miles waits until he’s at the next red light before he twists and grabs one of Tony’s hands too, scenting him with the same degree of platonic affection Gwen is. He laughs sheepishly and says, “Ay, sorry - we probably should’ve asked before Gwen and I just went ahead and put our hands on you like this.”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Gwen says with a sigh. “Well, there goes a week of Omega Sensitivity training at Oscorp, right down the drain.”

When both of them move to pull away, Tony surprises himself (and them) by grasping on to their wrists quickly to keep them from going far. He says, “No, it’s - it’s okay. No one has ever - has ever tried to -” God, why was it so hard to admit that he’s never had friends? That before Steve there really hadn’t been anyone? He’s touch starved and it’s embarrassing. “You’re fine,” he repeats quietly, hoping they understand without him having to say it. He grips their wrists and scents them back.

Miles and Gwen grin back at him fondly until all of them are pink but vibrating with shared joy and happiness, and the comfort of their deepening friendship.

A car honks behind them and they all pull away with a laugh and matching looks of sheepishness.

Miles continues to drive as a comfortable silence falls over them. Then he breaks it by saying, “My fear ain’t really as deep as ya’ll was.”

“No excuses,” Gwen teases but Tony suspects it’s because she already must know what it is.

“Yeah, aight,” Miles retorts dismissively. “It’s clowns, okay?”

“I can see that,” Tony admits. “A lot of people have that fear. Coulrophobia, I think it’s called.”

Gwen adds, “Yeah, something to do with the ‘uncanny valley’ effect.”

“Not this again,” Miles says as he executes a perfect u-turn for a street he missed due to local construction.

“Yes, Miles. _This_ again,” Gwen insists, addressing Tony’s confused expression to explain, “The UV effect is a phenomenon whereby things that look human but ‘aren’t quite there’ promotes the sensation in people and makes looking at a clown incredibly unsettling.”

“You wanna know how this scholar found out?” Miles remarks. “She tricked me into seeing _IT_ the first weekend the movie came out.”

“You said you didn’t like horror movies! I thought you were being dramatic. I didn’t know you had a phobia of clowns until that first scene. How many times can I say sorry until you forgive me? I’m horrible. I’m trash. I am an uncircumcised Philistine.”

Tony chokes on his own spit, laughing so hard.

“No worries, Gwen. I forgive you,” Miles merely says. “I been forgave you. I just like to see you verbally flog yourself out of guilt over it every now and again.”

“Oh my god. You’re such a worm.”

“Beep, beep, Gwen.”


	24. YEAR 1: PART VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - so remember when i was like 'buckle up' a few chapters ago? yeah you might wanna actually make sure you're strapped in going forward or you'll get vertigo. enjoy ;)

_Dora Skirth has added you and Steve Rogers to the group chat “New York’s Finest”._

**downtoskirth:** hello friends :)   
**downtoskirth:** it is i - dora   
**downtoskirth:** say hello eddie

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** hello eddie :)

 **downtoskirth:** really

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol ‘down to skirth’ like ‘down to earth’?

 **downtoskirth:** exactly !!!

 **youknowwhoiam:** love it   
**youknowwhoiam:** love everything about it   
**youknowwhoiam:** also hi hello

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** good afternoon :)   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** to what do we owe this pleasure?

 **downtoskirth:** well i meant it when i said we’d keep in contact   
**downtoskirth:** eddie and i are officially back in the city now   
**downtoskirth:** we’ve got two extra tickets to the upcoming mets game tomorrow if ur interested? :)

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** no yankees fans allowed tho

_brooklynfisticuffs liked at dr.edward-spaghedward’s ‘no yankees fans allowed tho’ message._

**downtoskirth:** no comments from the peanut gallery thank you

**dr.edward-spaghedward:  
  
**

**brooklynfisticuffs:** i can’t think of a better way to spend a sunday 

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah … baseball is the gentlemen’s sport where they catch frisbees mid-air with their mouths, right?

_dr.edward-spaghedward laughed at youknowwhoiam’s ‘yeah … baseball is the gentlemen’s sport where they catch frisbees mid-air with their mouths, right?’ message._

**brooklynfisticuffs:** sweetheart ...

 **youknowwhoiam:** what

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** your sense of humor is hurting my feelings rn

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh well husband mine   
**youknowwhoiam:** rip to baseball fans but i’m different

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** wow

 **downtoskirth:** wow

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** wow

 **youknowwhoiam:** with that being said unfortunately i’ll have to pass   
**youknowwhoiam:** steve you should take peter tho

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** i just might   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** he’d never disrespect baseball like this

 **downtoskirth:** can i ask about peter? have i met him?

 **youknowwhoiam:** you will on sunday ;)   
**youknowwhoiam:** he’s steve newly inherited foster brother

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** right   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** he’s the same age as eddie i think

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** if he’s nearly 14 then yeah

 **youknowwhoiam:** the way he tells it, he’s fourteen and a half

 **dr.edward-spaghedward:** cool   
**dr.edward-spaghedward:** by all means then

 **downtoskirth:** too bad you can’t come tony you’re missing out

_brooklynfisticuffs emphasized downtoskirth’s ‘too bad you can’t come tony you’re missing out’ message._

**youknowwhoiam:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **downtoskirth:** it’s totally fine   
**downtoskirth:** we’ll arrange something else   
**downtoskirth:** steve send me your address and we’ll see you and peter tomorrow

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** 10-4   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** tony you and i are gonna have a talk when you get home

_youknowwhoiam disliked brooklynfisticuffs ‘tony you and i are gonna have a talk when you get home’ message._

**dr.edward-spaghedward:** lol 

.

.

.

 **Cage’s Center for Acrobatic Gymnastics and Circus Arts** is a huge beast of a building and basically looked like a gymnasium hopped up on banned steroids, which is an odd thought in and of itself that he doesn’t share with Miles and Gwen but does text to Steve, who shares his humor over it. It’s strange but good to know that he can share even his silliest most inner thoughts with someone else and not be judged for it. He loves Steve and trusts him, and has been told countless times by the Alpha that he’s free to use their text thread as a personal diary, which Tony had found extremely amusing because of the wording, but also very sweet. He’s abused the freedom countless times and Steve has yet to verbalize that he regrets the invitation.

Anyway, the building is about three stories high and takes up the entire length of block it’s settled on. There are huge posters of all their success stories planted on the outside, with an electronic billboard settled on top, looping through local ads as well as any upcoming events or openings. It even has its own parking garage planted across the street from it.

Tony totally gets why Gwen had to use him as live bait to get access to this place. Despite how intimidating the streets of Hell’s Kitchen is, this center was obviously well funded, no matter how out of place it seemed. They obviously could afford setting up real estate in the city of Manhattan or otherwise, but maybe that was the point.

“Oh that’s totally the point,” Gwen confirmed as they all exited her car and made their way to the stairwell of the parking garage. She’s dressed in all black, jeans and hoodie, with her eyebrow and nose piercing on full display. Combined with her blonde, cropped pixie cut, she does come off as a low-key private bodyguard. “The founder, Misty Knight - she runs the 29th Precinct, graduated with honors, and a total badass with the highest number of clean arrests in her district as a rookie cop - but yeah, she’s like originally from this neighborhood. Started really small, you know, and then word got around about how good her husband was and how many places wanted to recruit him but he said his old stomping grounds needed it more than anywhere else. He accepts anyone from Hell’s Kitchen on a scholarship, but outsiders have to go through a rigorous vetting process.”

“Damn, that’s hella smart,” Miles remarks as he jumps down a whole flight of steps, sticking a wobbly landing and ignoring when Gwen scolds him for it. He’s dressed as casually as Tony is (graphic tee and skinny jeans with a plaid shirt tied at his waist). “Oh yeah, here, Tony.”

Tony grins in confusion when Miles shoves a pair of aviator sunglasses in his hands when he and Gwen finally reach him at the bottom of the steps next to the exit. “Why do I need these?”

“Don’t even worry about it. Just trust me, fam,” Miles urges.

Tony shrugs and slaps them on. “Fine. How do I look?”

Gwen and Miles give him a thumbs up before they usher him across the street and to the entrance of the massive center. 

Only problem is it’s locked, and everything inside is dark.

“No. No, no, no! This doesn’t make sense,” Gwen complains as they continued craning their necks to peer inside the windows to make sense of any moving shapes in the darkened building. “We have an appointment today. I totally have an email that confirms it!”

“Check again,” Miles suggests.

Gwen’s face twists up in such a way that Tony can’t stop the laugh that exits his mouth even if he had the best willpower. She says, “I literally looked before we exited the car.”

“Nah, nah, nah,” Miles disagrees, holding out a hand. “Lemme see.”

“Guys, it’s fine. We can, I don’t know, come back later,” Tony suggests, inserting himself between them, breaking the Alpha’s heated eye contact with each other and stalling a brawl, no matter how minor. “Maybe it was like a clerical error.”

“Busted pipes, actually,” a new voice says. “At least that’s the word on the streets. And by word on the streets, I mean I may have done a little, itsy bitsy bit of hacking to their database and looked at schedules and contacts. That sorta thing. Total run of the mill legit stuff.”

Tony, Gwen, and Miles all stiffen before spinning around simultaneously.

A massively tall Omega who looks like _My Little Pony_ barfed all over him looms behind them with a goofy smile, twinkling blue eyes, pale almost sickly looking complexion, and hollow cheeks. He has katana swords strapped in an ‘X’ to his back and remains cheerfully but purposefully oblivious to the incredulous stares aimed in his direction. He smells like burnt brown sugar, sticky and raw.

When no one responds to him, he puts his hands on his hips above where his utility belt (holding three visible guns) hugs his waist. “Yeah, it sucks oodles. I had an appointment too. Not here exactly but with some Alpha scum that’s been lingering around the exits waiting for the itty bitty Omega kiddies to come out so he can give them some rapey candy. Four have gone missing so far and that shit don’t fly with me. Also, when I say appointment, I mean more of the lethal kind, if you know what I mean, wink wink.” He scans the three of them briefly. “Yeah, don’t you hate when plans change like that? I’ll have to bill my good friend Weasel for some out of route mileage. For now, it’s back to the drawing board.” His voice gets chipper as he continues, “Anywho … what are you three cuties up to?”

Gwen responds quickly, pointing at him comically, “You’re Deadpool!”

Deadpool raises both hands in mock surrender. “Bingo! Tell her what she’s won, Bob!” Then he mimes a crowd cheering before humming the theme song for _The Price is Right_ in a high pitched voice. “Well I’m glad my reputation precedes me as a merc for hire and not just a pretty face!” he exclaims, actually sounding so proud that it baffles Tony because he heard this guy is nothing but crazy, bad news. Deadpool pauses and cocks his head at Miles, eyes gleaming all the more. “Now _hello_ there, dark and handsome. Deadpool’s the name, if it hasn’t already sunk in yet. Although, with a face like yours, you can call me Wade or Daddy. This is the part where you bless me with your name.”

Miles flushes at the wink sent his way by the older Omega but mumbles out his name.

“Hey, back off. He’s seventeen,” Tony scolds, feeling his protective instincts surge and rage at the audacity of the other Omega.

“Oh, is he?” Deadpool mulls it over. “What a coincidence! I was seventeen once. Groovy time. I’m nineteen now. Not as much fun but it’s only been about seven months, so … maybe I oughta give it more time to really sink in.”

“No one asked how old you are,” Tony retorts coolly.

“Seemed more implied, but eh, in for a penny, in for a pound,” Deadpool easily returns, never dropping his cheerful demeanor, no matter how viciously Tony glares. “Cool down, Mama Bear.”

“My name is Tony.”

“Yeah, I know who you are, gorgeous. You got the Stark eyebrows.”

Tony’s expression flattens out into nothing. He doesn’t like the way Deadpool is teasing him. “It’s Rogers, actually. Not Stark.”

“Ah, the plot chickens.”

Tony glares.

Deadpool winks back.

“I’m actually eighteen,” Miles adds quietly after a period of awkward silence.

Deadpool grins before giving a fake cough, “ _God is a woman_.”

Miles’s flush deepens to an alarming degree as he releases some pheromones.

“Back off,” Tony warns, pointing the end of his aviators in Deadpool’s direction warningly. He cares about Miles because the young Alpha is smart but also remarkably kind and thoughtful. He doesn’t need the kind of deadly drama that follows Deadpool and Tony’s not going to stand back while the dangerous Omega makes a trainwreck of his best friend’s life. Miles has a bright future that should not have to include Deadpool. “Seriously, back off.”

Deadpool lifts his hands to show that he’s no threat, which is funny coming from a lethally massive figure such as him. But he makes a show of taking a few steps back. “I joke, I kid,” he swears and tucks his hands behind him, bearing an expression that states he’s used to being starved of normal or friendly interaction. “Besides, no one wants a barren, stage four cancer-riddled freakshow of an Omega like me anyway. I know my place in this little blue marble of ours.”

Tony refuses to feel guilty.

Miles, the softhearted Alpha he is, suddenly looks concerned and sad. “You - you really have cancer?”

Deadpool just shrugs like it’s no big deal even though it clearly is. “I’d like to think I was born with it, you know? Like it’s always been there with me. A deadly guardian angel of sorts. Helps me live each day like it’s my last because, well, let’s be honest. It could very well be.”

“That’s -” Miles looks a little stumped and even more concerned. He bears all the different shades of empathy. “You’re brave. I’d be bawling my eyes out all the time until I hit the grave. You could probably follow a whole river right up to me. You’re so - that’s a brave way to face it.”

Deadpool jolts, as though he’s been zapped by lightning, like he’s taken aback by the compliment, like he’s not used to anyone saying anything nice to him. He actually looks a little confused. “Ah - well. That’s not to say I hadn’t gone through that ever precious weepy and denial phase. My roommate Vanessa could tell you a thing or two about that actually. I just kind of … balanced it out by un-aliving a few baddies on my hit list. Left my old black ops team when I realized I’d carve it out better as more of an anti-hero. Dishing out justice for the little guy, but for the right price because Daddy’s gotta eat. Turning a new leaf, I think it’s called.”

Miles has Jupiter-sized hearts in his eyes as he releases more pheromones.

Deadpool fidgets, seeming caught off guard again by the response. He looks a little pink.

Tony cannot keep up. He’s trying to decide on the best way to intervene here.

Gwen suddenly announces, “This is fate!”

Miles and Tony shoot her a confused look while Deadpool just cocks his hip to the side in amusement.

“You know Spider-Man,” Gwen elaborates and it hits Tony all at once that the younger Alpha is correct. “You could help us.”

“Could I?” Deadpool drawls, blue eyes measuring them up and down. “I mean Spidey and I go way back, sure. He’s sorta my probation officer whenever I hit these little ole streets of New York. I know his usual hangout spots but … I don’t know. Are you friend or foe?”

“Friend. The friendliest,” Gwen promises, pressing her palms together in front of her chin like a prayer. “We have something important we need his help with. We were going to talk to Luke Cage, but this was a dead-end of sorts. Then you happened.”

Deadpool laughs, but there is nothing joyful about it in the least, too sarcastic and dry. “Oh, if I had a dime for every time someone’s said that little phrase to me … okay, I’ll bite. But nothing’s free in the land where capitalism is king.”

“Oh great,” Tony mutters, unsurprised. “How much are we talking? Be reasonable.”

“I’m always fair,” Deadpool promises, letting the anticipation build and build. Then he finally says, “I wouldn’t turn down a free meal. And I know what you’re thinking, but no, I am not as obsessed with chimichangas as the comics would have you believe.”

“Comics?” Tony repeats, confused and sharing it with Miles who shrugs but looks amused and charmed. “He’s not in any comics I’ve seen. What is he talking about? What are you talking about?”

Deadpool continues, “Well you’re apart of the comics too. Yours is more streamlined, and there are so many versions too. But you can’t see the comics when you’re in them. Although ... we're actually in fanfic right now hosted by AO3. Hey, did you know they recently won a Hugo Award? Anyway, when I say, 'God is a woman!', I'm not just quoting the lovely Ms. Ariana Grande, but I'm hinting at the amazing author of this alternate universe." He ignores the three incredulous stares being aimed his way yet again to count off on his fingers as he goes on to say, "She's a Cancer, she owns three cactuses, and she's never seen _Love Actually_ , which, like, what? That's a rom-com holiday movie you do not just _dodge_. That's like ... _vital_. But let’s table that for another day. Back to the good stuff. Food. Ixnay on the imichangaschay. I just like saying the word. Now, enchiladas are where the magic _really_ happens.”

“I _love_ enchiladas,” Miles breathes, looking up at Deadpool with a wide-eyed infatuated stare.

“Oh, honey bun,” Deadpool drawls. “You’re not making this whole ‘keep my hands to myself’ thing easy on me. I’m no good for a little sweetheart like you.”

Tony wholeheartedly agrees.

But Miles actually gives a bubbly laugh when the merc makes obnoxious kissy faces at him like he’s completely besotted with the heavily muscled Omega. 

Tony glares and Deadpool quickly backs off, holding up his hands again. This guy is going to be a handful.

“So, we gotta deal or what?” Deadpool offers his hand.

Gwen is the only one brave enough to grab it and she shakes firmly. “I know the perfect place.”

“Neat-o!” Deadpool grins, removing some bubblegum chapstick from his utility belt to slather it on. “I call shotgun!”

.

.

.

After an hour of enduring Deadpool talk about everything from the weather to the Kardasians then back to the weather of some foreign country that in no way related to anything, Tony is ready to pull out his hair. Deadpool takes the reigns of all conversation and refuses to let them go while also playing Russian roulette with Gwen’s radio. Tony, at one point, contemplates if all this trouble is even worth meeting his favorite masked vigilante. He thinks about the yellow space rock found in the plasma gun and moodily reasons that, yes, it is. 

Eventually, they all end up piled into Miles’s grandmother’s tiny kitchen in Queens.

Guadalupe Morales is more than happy to host them, taking a moment to pinch and give affectionate kisses to, what she claims in Spanish, her favorite grandchild sent from the Blessed Mother herself from above.

Miles whines and complains, face darkening in embarrassment until Guadalupe has mercy and shares the wealth of her affection with Gwen, and then Tony, and even Deadpool, who looks smitten by the older woman.

She hustles everyone into the kitchen after the introductions and begins her craft. She cooks the food very easily, with a spirit that’s akin to spontaneous child-like wonder but also with hands that never wavered, never faltered, and stayed steady to display the methods of a true gift, deeply developed over time; the passionate love and culture of her people folded into each stage. She is declared the Beta Monarch of homemade enchiladas. 

At least that’s what Deadpool says during the breaths he takes between scarfing down plate after plate while Guadalupe’s four cats lounge and give soft purrs as they strut and sit all over Deadpool. The merc doesn’t seem to mind the feline company in the least, seeming quite taken with them as they are with him.

Tony is stumped by the sight since he thought cats had more sense than that, but those furballs all dote over Deadpool as much as Miles does, those Jupiter-sized hearts still twinkling in his eyes. Tony wonders if he’s the only one that notices it because Gwen and Guadalupe don’t address it in any way, too busy chatting idly about Gwen’s ongoing internship with Oscorp. Is he missing something here?

Tony can’t fathom why he’s the only one that thinks Deadpool looks so out of place at the tiny kitchen table that he nearly dwarfs with his impressive muscles. He decides to give it a rest and enjoy the food put before him, because it is really good, and finds that he’s especially fond of the yellow rice added to his plate. He glances around at all of the pictures of family and friends that Guadalupe proudly displays, and waits until he’s cleared his third plate before he goes to confirm the polaroid picture of Steve magnetized to the fridge. Yup, that’s his husband, but younger, sitting on Guadalupe’s couch with an even younger Miles, both of them with grins and cheeks puffed out with good food.

“Handsome, yes?” Guadalupe grins as she begs his pardon to grab a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. “Married, if rumors are true.”

Tony can’t help but laugh. “Rumors are true. That’s my husband,” he confirms proudly.

Guadalupe looks absolutely thrilled and quickly passes the pitcher to Miles, shooing him away to serve Gwen and Deadpool. “This is good! You seem so … ah, what is this word? Better than ‘good’. I always wanted better than good for Steve. Such a sweet boy. I have the, how you would say? The great affection for him like he is my own. You will get this from me too! You are his family. Come hug me.”

“Oh,” Tony breathes, unsure what to do with the warm and fuzzy feelings he gets when the dark-skinned older woman folds him into her arms. He stands stiffly but she doesn’t seem to mind, pulling away to kiss him on the cheek, grinning fondly when that gets Tony to go pink. “I, uh - thank you.” He then repeats it in Spanish and gives his compliments and appreciation for the food.

Guadalupe’s brown eyes, the same eyes Miles has, twinkle with affection and she responds in kind until they end up having a full-fledged conversation in Spanish about light subjects such as flowers, clouds, beetles, and the price of eggs.

Tony enjoys every second of it, mourning the loss of his grandmother on Maria’s side of the family, who he hasn’t let himself think about in years. She had the same kind spirit as Guadalupe does, and wasn’t cold or mean like Maria, though Tony can’t say where Maria gets that from. 

 _Some people are just born mean maybe,_  Tony thinks before he lets it go to live in the now. 

Before he knows it, it’s getting pretty late in the evening, and Deadpool, who is recounting to Gwen and Miles the outlandish tale of a funeral he held last week for a caterpillar he accidentally squashed, is yet to hold up his end of the bargain.

A ringtone suddenly starts screaming out song lyrics: _“I just took a DNA test, turns out I'm 100% that bitch!”_

Everyone immediately looks at Miles.

Miles blinks and even pats himself down. “Ay, that’s not me this time, matter fact,” he swears.

“Oh, that’s me!” Deadpool says as he pulls out a 'Hello, Kitty' flip phone from one of the pockets of his utility belt. He flips it open with great dramatic flair. “Spidey! Boy, you’re a hard man to get ahold of. Did you get my texts that you did not respond to?” He pauses and nods to whatever is being said.

Tony can’t help but lean in curiously, though Gwen and Miles are doing the same, so.

“Uh huh? Oh? Get out of here! No way! Oh wow. Uh-huh. Uh- _huh_. Okay!” Deadpool snaps the phone shut with a satisfied sound. “Yeah, he’s not coming. Sorry, folks. Spidey’s being a diva. But don’t worry. I’ll harass him for as long as I need to until he caves and hears you out. Though it would help to know what you need him for.”

Tony wades through the crushing disappointment and holds his chin up as he says, “Need to know.”

Deadpool narrows his eyes but then shrugs. “Sure. Like I said, I’ll try and arrange something else. Who wants to give me their number for a follow-up?” He pointedly looks at Miles, who goes red and stammers.

Tony cracks his knuckles but Gwen jumps to intervene, “Yeah, that’d be me. Do you have whatsapp?” and when Deadpool confirms, they exchange info.

“Welp, thinks it’s about time I hit that old dusty trail,” Deadpool remarks, standing to his feet and stretching out into his intimidating height of 6' 4". “Ms. Morales, you will always have my heart ... and my stomach. Thank you so much for all the fuel you helped put in the tank. I’ll see you three cuties soon.” Then he looks down at the four cats walking loops between his ankles. “As well as you awesome little dudes! Who’s a pretty kitty? Yeah, you are! And you are! Also you! And I’d never forget about you!” He gives each one of them a little kiss on the top of their heads as punishment for 'being too darn cute to exist'.

Miles laughs and Deadpool's face brightens at hearing it before he gives one final salute to Tony, who is glaring at him. Then he’s gone.

“What a bust,” Tony mutters with his arms crossed.

Gwen wanders over and claps a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, don’t say that. We got the next best thing. D.P.’s totally got us. If anything, he’s gonna wanna use this as an excuse to see Miles again.”

“You ain’t cute,” Miles quickly protests. “S’not even like that, Gwen. He’s friendly people.”

Gwen rolls her eyes while Tony looks doubtful.

Guadalupe invites them to have a generous serving of tres leches cake before they go, and the three of them are smart enough not to turn down the offer. 

She lets them go only on the promise that they would come to visit her again soon.

.

.

.

 _I have to fix the miserable expression on my face or not look so defeated,_ Tony thinks as he stands out on the top of the porch steps, waving his thanks to Gwen from where she idles on the curb with Miles in the passenger seat. They wave back before Gwen pulls off and Tony feels his mouth slouch even further, as well as his shoulders. 

 _I have to fix my face,_ he thinks again and has not even a clue of where to begin, but he also doesn't want Sarah or Steve or Peter to worry when they see him. He wishes he could feel the way Miles and Gwen do about today’s events, that it wasn’t a complete waste. It’s just that he built up this whole scenario in his mind about all the clever things he would say when he met Spider-Man again, ready to prove that he wasn’t the tongue-tied groupie he’d displayed himself during their first interaction.

But now, due to a series of unfortunate events, that wouldn’t happen. And maybe it might never, he supposes glumly, half ready to seize Peter by the shoulders and ask him things he probably shouldn’t ask the younger Omega.

He sighs, straightens his shoulders, and twists his expression into something more neutral and poised before he braves entering the house. Most of the lights are on, but no one is really around. He hears soft music flowing in from the back and decides to follow it until he’s led to the backyard where Sarah, Steve, and Peter are surrounding a roaring fire pit making s’mores as Sarah dramatically recites _Beowulf_ line for line with Little Ben perched on her shoulder, humming music she can talk to.

Peter is absolutely enraptured by the retelling while Steve looks heavily amused and used to the display. 

Steve is the first to spot Tony and his face lights up with a smile that never fails to make Tony’s insides squirm like a bucket of splashing eels. He waves Tony over and pats the empty pillow at his side with blatant invitation.

Tony huffs with a smile, already feeling his mood escalate towards something more cheerful at his husband’s enthusiasm at orchestrating his seating placement, which would be as close to Steve as possible. 

Steve hands over the s’more he made for himself without a second thought and says, lowly, “How’d it go?”

Tony doesn’t really want to think about it. He replies, “Tell you later. What’s all this?”

Steve doesn’t press, seeming to understand as his side of the bond unfolds in rich hues of cotton candy pinks and candy apple reds. “Ma’s reciting my Da’s favorite epic poems. Years ago, she memorized every single word before she proposed to him.”

Tony snorts and almost gets pieces of brittle graham crackers stuck in the back of his throat and up his nose for his trouble.

Steve quickly pats him on the back. “Chew it, Tony. Don’t inhale it,” he mockingly reprimands.

Tony elbows him away, going pink when Sarah and Peter finally take notice of him. “I’m good!” he swears. “Don’t mind me. Carry on.”

Peter smiles at him in that particular way he does when he’s excited to see Tony while Sarah nods, all business-like, and goes back to describing the monster Grendel with great relish. It’s enough to grab Peter’s rapt attention once more.

“What was so funny?” Steve questions quietly, mindful of his mother’s theatrics.

Tony snorts as he thinks about it. “All that romanticism. I just realized it’s genetic,” he explains with a wide grin.

“Oh!” Steve lets out a caught laugh and gets a little pink. “Yeah. No, that’s - that’s a fair assumption. Ma and I are all about big gestures as much as we are about the small ones.”

Tony hums in agreement as he chews thoughtfully for a moment, watching Steve get ready to make himself a s’more to replace the one he gave away. “You know, I can’t even imagine how you would have proposed to me if we had met under different circumstances,” he muses. 

Steve coughs and ducks his head, suddenly super invested in the marshmallow he’s impaling on a skewer. “Ah, yeah. Fireworks and balloons,” he jokes weakly, a slight tremor to his voice.

Tony figures it's because he’s embarrassed by the way Tony’s calling him out. He decides to stop teasing. “I love that about you, you know,” he promises, knocking their shoulders together. “You give me something to aspire to.”

Steve smiles without looking his way, bumping their shoulders together again just as affectionately as Tony had. His side of the bond deepens all the more with rose golds and dusty pinks.

Tony feels the weight of his exhaustion start to sink into his bones and blinks tiredly after thirty minutes of listening to Sarah perform the battle scene between Grendel and Beowulf. He nods off to the parts where Beowulf is being declared king, viciously fighting the seductive draw of drowsiness. But surrounded by the scent of crackling firewood, his family’s earthy aroma, and the calming balm of his mother-in-law’s voice combined with Peter’s excited gasps, it becomes harder and harder to fight.

Steve, seeming to sense this, announces, “Hey, we’re going to head inside for bed.”

Sarah pauses the story to give him a nod of acknowledgment.

Peter looks a little disappointed but the expression clears within a second when he gets ahold of how utterly exhausted Tony looks. “Goodnight, Po - ah, Steve. Tony. See you tomorrow.”

Tony huffs as Steve pulls them both to their feet, guiding Tony inside with pushy hands as the Omega says, “Does it bother you when he does that?”

“When who does what?” Steve asks, escorting Tony down the steps and into their bedroom. He moves Tony to sit at the edge of the bed as he kneels and begins untying Tony's shoelaces to remove his shoes for him.

“Peter,” Tony elaborates, watching Steve remove his socks. “Like when he stops himself from saying ‘dad’ or ‘pops’. Does it bother you? Sounds weird to hear him say our first names when I know he’s ours, you know?”

Steve’s smiling to himself for some reason as he massages Tony’s feet. “Sometimes, I guess, it needles at me,” he admits.

Tony groans and falls back on the bed to blink tiredly at the ceiling. “God, that feels so good. I gotta get this - this makeup off my face but I can’t,” he complains weakly as he moans and groans.

“I’ve got you, Sweet Pea,” Steve promises, letting go of Tony’s foot to disappear into their bathroom before reappearing with some wipes.

Tony gives a little cheer that makes Steve laugh fondly as he gets to work with wiping all the heavy gunk on Tony’s face off with gentle care.

“Tell me about today,” Steve encourages as continues clearing Tony’s face.

Tony starts with the car ride, about what he shared with Gwen and Miles, not missing the pinched expression Steve gets when Tony reiterates Howard’s A+ parenting methods. But that expression grows into something more amusedly fond when Tony goes on a rant about Deadpool and his insidious ways.

Steve’s mostly interested in the time Tony spent with Guadalupe and the compliments she paid him while Tony rolls his eyes when Steve asks him to repeat said compliments, pretending not to have heard them the first time around. Then lastly, Tony explains how disappointed he was how everything ended with them landing back to square one, and living on a prayer that Deadpool can convince the masked vigilante to hear them out.

“It’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to, I think,” Steve comments around his toothbrush when they stand side by side to brush their teeth together, as they're known to do as a form of intimacy.

After they change into some sleepwear and curl up into bed together, Tony says, “What should I do about SHIELD? If Hammer can - if he’s offering to - god, what should I do?”

Steve goes noticeably quiet. Then he says, “I think dealing with SHIELD is a bad idea.”

Tony frowns in the dark. He can’t see Steve’s expression because the Alpha is spooning him from behind, but his side of the bond begins to simmer with muted greys and agitated blues. “What’s with the change of heart? You were just saying how I should bargain for my Agency. What about FRIDAY?”

“Yeah, well, that was before Hammer’s offer. I think he’s a better path than SHIELD. Who, by the way, is presently fielding some dangerous infiltration to their ranks. The more I think about it - the more I’ve _thought_ about it … I don’t want you getting mixed up with it.”

Tony doesn’t say anything for a moment. Something feels off and he can’t pinpoint why. Maybe he’s overthinking this. Steve only wants what’s best for him at the end of the day. Still, he asks, “What about FRIDAY?”

“Hammer could probably do something about that too,” Steve is quick to point out. “Won’t know until you ask.”

“I guess,” Tony murmurs with a sigh. He shifts back to press himself as close to Steve as possible. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I can ask,” Steve promises because they both know that the Alpha would never force Tony to do anything he didn’t want to. “I love you, Tony.”

Tony smiles with his eyes closed. “ _Anche in paradiso non è bello essere soli,_ ” he mumbles back in Italian. “ _Ti voglio molto bene_.”

“What’s that?” Steve asks curiously.

“Just saying I love you more today than yesterday but less than tomorrow.”

Steve presses a huge smile into his shoulder and tightens the hold he has with his arms around Tony’s waist. “My heart is in you,” he mumbles into Tony’s shoulder. “You can keep it forever. I’ll never ask for it back.”

Tony begins to drift but he huffs. “Good. I’m greedy and selfish enough to never let you.”

.

.

.

_sunflowersandstickers shared a photo with ‘SPIDER GANG GANG’_

**sunflowersandstickers:** sorry to wake ya’ll with this if you sleep   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i know its midnight but look how pretty :)

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** wow miles best work yet :))   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** where was this at?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ehhhh some joint my uncle aaron put me on to   
**sunflowersandstickers:** just off the train tracks   
**sunflowersandstickers:** we was in that bish like whoa

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** lol you vandal ;)

 **sunflowersandstickers:** u already kno gggggggg   
**sunflowersandstickers:** tony when u wake up cause i know you sleep   
**sunflowersandstickers:** tell a young playboy what ya think

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** yes our sweet summer child needs validation

**sunflowersandstickers:  
  
**

_snowwhiteprivilege laughed at sunflowersandstickers’s image_

**sunflowersandstickers:** also dont be mad gwen   
**sunflowersandstickers:** but i killed a fellow arachnid friend

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** you monster

 **sunflowersandstickers:** !!!!   
**sunflowersandstickers:** no but like   
**sunflowersandstickers:** little eight-legged shortie came outta nowhere   
**sunflowersandstickers:** and bit me on the hand while i was taking these pics

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** why can’t you just let bugs thrive miles

 **sunflowersandstickers:** it surprised me!

**snowwhiteprivilege:  
  
**

**sunflowersandstickers:** !!!!   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i could have died -_-

**snowwhiteprivilege:  
  
**

_sunflowersandstickers disliked snowwhiteprivilege’s image_

**sunflowersandstickers:** i’m goin to bed man   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i dont need that energy fam

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** gnite   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** sleep tight   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** dont let the arachnids bite

 **sunflowersandstickers:** on godddddddd im sick of u  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** tony come get this gollumpus thot

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** lmao luv u 2 meatball

.

.

.

Tony wakes up a quarter past three in the afternoon the next day, alone. He vaguely remembers Steve slipping from his arms in the early morning, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek as he muttered something about the Mets game and how his Ma was going to Mass but would be home shortly after. 

Now, fully awake, Tony can appreciate the humor and how sweet it is that Steve frets over him so much, not really enjoying the thought of leaving him on his own. He takes a moment to pick out some loungewear before climbing into the shower. By the time he’s freshly clean and dressed for the day, he takes his phone upstairs to charge because it’s exhausted itself by fielding all missed messages and notifications aimed at Tony’s way. 

Tony’s eyeing the different pieces of the time-watch strewn across the dining room table before his gaze jumps to the small area at the end of the table where Peter’s made space for himself and his projects. He takes a moment to review the half-finished laptop resting there, along with two sets of headphones, and grabs the nearby stack of sticky notes to scribble out a few suggestions for the young Omega before he plants those notes here and there for Peter to later find.

When he’s satisfied with that, he goes back to the whiteboard and erases all the formulas there. Now that he’s no longer suffering from sleep deprivation, he realizes that none of what he’s put so far makes even a lick of sense. With a sigh, he accepts he’ll have to return to square one and scour the world wide web for any lingering time theories that might add his venture into unraveling the mystery of the formula that makes the time-watch work.

Tony’s about to grab his laptop when he hears Little Ben’s unmistakable chirping, followed by soft sobs and the smell of cigarette smoke. Worried, he follows the smell out into the living room and then around the corner to the broom closet where Sarah’s leg is sticking out through the crack of the door. 

“What in the world?” Tony mutters to himself as he goes to open the door to see Sarah cradling a nearly empty bottle of vodka to her heaving chest, while she has one shaky hand holding up a lit cigarette to her trembling mouth. Her face is streaked with tears, eyes and nose red, and Little Ben resting in her lap, trying to sing a joyful tune to cheer her up. It’s heartbreaking. “Sarah?”

Sarah sniffs with a frown before she lifts her gaze and smiles sadly. “Tony!” she exclaims with a watery smile. “Goodness, come have a sit with me, wee darling.”

Tony crouches down so they are eye level. “I would but … you’re taking up all the space in there,” he points out mildly.

Sarah blinks slowly with a concentrated frown before she looks around as though realizing that he’s right. “Oh my. Well, come sit in my lap then.”

Before Tony can convince her otherwise, she reaches out and tugs him into the darkness with her and into his lap. He squeaks and goes pink when she cradles his head to her breasts with some soothing, motherly noises. She’s got quite a grip but she’s not hurting him.

Little Ben issues a few complaints about almost being squished in the midst of the commotion before he web-slings himself to the ceiling so he can hover over their heads.

“Oof, sorry, Little Bennie Boy,” Sarah slurs before taking another swig of the vodka she’d been cradling. She smells strongly of ash as well as the vodka, which seems to be leaking from the sweat of her pores. It’s already pretty stuffy in the broom closet, now combined with body heat, it’s a bit unbearable. “There we are,” she sighs, putting the bottle down by her waist so she can continue to hold Tony to her breast and rock them both.

“Uh, Sarah?” Tony mumbles with a pink face, thoroughly confused. “I’m not trying to jump to any conclusions but do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

Sarah takes a few puffs of her cigarette before flicking the ash in a nearby bucket. “You’ve got to keep this between us,” she merely says.

“Keep what?”

“My smoking,” Sarah clarifies. “Promised Stevie that I’d gone and quit it. And I have! I have, but sometimes I need - I need it when things get too rough for me.”

Tony’s afraid to ask what’s triggered this relapse but he cares about Sarah to do so anyway. “What’s wrong?”

Sarah doesn’t answer for a long time, just starts singing a Celtic lullaby between inhales and exhales of cigarette smoke.

Tony gives her time, understanding she may need it, and listens to the steady thumps of her heartbeat, mindful of the steady drips of tears that lands on his face from off of Sarah’s jaw and chin above him.

Sarah ends her song with a sigh, taking one last puff from her cigarette before she snuffs it out. Then she sniffs and says, “Cousin Hamish phoned to tell me my brother’s died.”

Tony stiffens.

Sarah sobs a little as she continues, “Didnae even know he was sickly - too sickly to even tell me himself. The last time we talked was three months ago, but that’s how he is sometimes, I didnae think anything of it. But - but no one told me, those bastards. Lucky Hamish said anything or I would’ve missed the funeral.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tony breathes and shares her pain. From what Steve’s told him about his Uncle Morgan, him and Sarah had been extremely close since he was the only one in the family that supported her decision to flee with the love of her life. “Sarah, I’m so sorry.”

“Aye,” Sarah agrees, sobbing a little more. “Aye, me too, wee darling. Me too.” She sniffs and lets him shuffle in her lap so he can hug her. She hugs him back, fiercely. “Oh, you sweet thing.”

Tony tightens his arms around her, mumbling his sympathies.

“When we were young, Morgan and I used to run to the edge of the farm to the top of the hill where we had a perfect view of the seaside on clear nights. Morgan used to turn to me and say, ‘Look at her, Sarah! Look how big and full that old space rock is. Showing off. D’ya think maybe the Moon is in love with sea?’ and I would say, ‘I can’t fathom it but I hope so!’ and we would laugh and imagine the life the Sea and the Moon would have together, pretending that the fish and the stars were their children.”

Tony smiles sadly at that.

“I’m so cross with my family,” Sarah continues. “They wouldn’t have told me. I would’ve missed everything - all ten days of the passing ceremony. Already missed today, and maybe even tomorrow depending on the quickest flight I can get. Oh, what can I do?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer for her. It’s been so long since he’s fielded death in the family and that had been his grandparents when he was younger. Howard’s parents had died before Tony was even born and neither Maria or him had any siblings to speak of. 

“This’ll put Steve in ruins,” Sarah weeps. “He loved my Morgan as much as I. He’ll want to come with me when I go. D’ya think - would that be okay?”

“It’s not even a question,” Tony quickly assures, hooking his chin on her left shoulder. “I’ll have to stay behind with Peter, but I fully support you both traveling overseas for - for whatever ceremony they are having for your brother’s passing.”

“Such a lovely jewel,” Sarah sniffs, hiccuping slightly but it still breaks Tony’s soft heart. “Best thing to happen to all of us, you are.”

Tony feels like this is mostly the liquor talking but the validation still turns his insides into jellies. “I’m okay company,” he downplays and laughs when Sarah pinches his side, murmuring something about how she disagrees and that he’s the best of the best because her son knows only to pick the best. “Let’s maybe get you to bed? And some water?”

Sarah mumbles something in a foreign language, holding onto Tony for dear life before convincing herself to let him go. They stumble out of the broom closet together and Tony makes a soft sound at how hefty Sarah’s weight feels leaning into the warm line of his side with her arm draped over his shoulders.

Tony has a little trouble guiding her up the steps to her room, but he manages without giving either of them a grave injury. He lets Sarah plop on her back once they reach her bed and moves to make her more comfortable amongst the pillows. Then he doubles back to the kitchen for a tall glass of water, which he helps Sarah drink after he climbs into bed with her, guiding her into a sitting position against the headboard. He serves her about four glasses before she taps out and complains about water torture, curling up under the covers and asking Tony to stay until she falls asleep.

Tony easily agrees, keeping his place at the head of the bed so she can drape half of her body in his lap as he strokes his fingers through her red hair.

“Should I - do you think I should call Steve?” Tony asks quietly.

Sarah hums with a sigh, eyes blissfully closed under the affectionate scent-marking Tony is gifting her with. “No,” she decides. “Let him have his day. I’ll want to speak to him when he gets home. Bad news should come from me.”

“Okay,” Tony says, trusting her judgment. It takes fifteen minutes before Sarah dozes off completely and he carefully slides out from under her to tuck her in before rummaging through her medicine cabinet for some pain medicine to put at her bedside with a fresh glass of water. 

Little Ben opts to stay behind like some kind of mechanical guardian angel, webbing himself to the top of the headboard.

He closes the door gently behind her with a sigh and wanders back down to the dining room, distracting himself with all his missed messages and notifications for a short while.

.

.

.

Tony’s standing out on the top of the front porch steps when Dora pulls up to the curb. She and Eddie wave at him excitedly from the front, which he returns with a more tame wave.

Steve and Peter exit the back of her luxury vehicle, looking like the Mets mascot threw up all over them, eyes glimmering and cheeks pink with good cheer.

Tony tries to look as neutral as possible when Steve greets him with a jittery kiss. “Hey, love, you need to check on your mom,” he says.

Steve continues to hold him close, eyes scanning his face as if he wants to set it to memory as his brow furrows. “Everything okay?” he asks.

“Just go see her,” Tony encourages without answering. “I’m gonna walk Peter to your favorite specialty stand.”

Steve nods curiously and dips into the house leaving the two Omegas alone.

Tony braves a smile and says, “You don’t mind walking with me?”

Peter shakes his head and together they make their way. The younger Omega fills Tony in on the events of the game, saying that it’s funny to actually witness history in the making while already knowing the outcome. Also adding that it’s super weird to see such a young version of Dora and Eddie, knowing that this will probably freak them out later when the time comes for his inevitable intro into the land of the living down the road.

Tony admits, from a scientific point of view, that it is pretty hilarious to imagine. He can’t wait to be there when it does, but that’s something he keeps to himself as he purchases two orders of _Mango con Chile y Limon._  

While they eat, Tony asks Peter about what he likes to do for fun, and after some masterful persuasion, he manages to convince Peter to confess to his love, hopes, and aspirations for ballet.

“Sibling A, or your oldest,” Peter goes on to say, trying to keep future events as vague as possible for, what he calls, weird, hand-wavy science reasons. “Got these tickets to this ballet when I was like six or something for their birthday from Auntie Dora, and I don’t know. Steve thought because of how young I was, that I wouldn’t like, sit still or be interested. I was … a handful. Smarter than most kids my age and full of energy.”

“Sounds like me,” Tony comments between bites as they sit down on a nearby park bench to watch the thin number of young kids make use of the local playground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees with this soft smile jam-packed with adoration that makes Tony’s heart skip a beat to see aimed his way because god, what do you do when someone looks at you like you’re everything? “Pops, I mean, _Steve_ used to say the same. Anyway, everyone decided to take a chance on me - there was a whole vote and everything - and I was brought along. I don’t know, it was like … it was like something clicked when I watched the dancers on the stage. I thought about how beautiful and graceful and fluid they were. I cried. Like a lot. Steve thought at first I was bored to tears but when asked me if I wanted to leave during the intermission, I just told him that it was all so pretty that it made me like, not sad or anything, but something else I couldn’t explain. It connected with me and I’ve wanted to be apart of that ever since.”

“That explains some things,” Tony remarks because it does. “Your flexibility and bruised feet for one.”

Peter snorts, almost choking on the next bite.

“And the way you stretch or those random ballet twirls you do sometimes when you can't be still for more than ten minutes at a time while standing.”

Peter laughs harder, using a napkin to mop up the juice leaking out the sides of his mouth. When he gets a handle on his humor, he says, “Oh my _god._ Those are called _pique turns,_  not ballet twirls.”

“Eh, tomato, potato,” Tony grins, waving it off but making a mental note to try and take a nose dive into some research about the subject matter. “Where do you see this taking you?”

“God,” Peter groans, shaking his head. “That’s the million-dollar question. I mean as much as I love chemistry and bio, you know, I do want to be a professional stage dancer. But ballet life is grueling, as our coaches and trainers alway remind us. It's hard on your mind and your body. We all want to be perfect. I’d love to make a career of it, traveling for a few years on a solid contract before picking something that keeps me in state. But, I’m young, I guess. I just have to focus on what I can do now with perfecting as many techniques as I can and build up my portfolio.”

Tony is happy to know that Peter has such a level head about what he wants. His affection for the kid grows into an almost insidious thing, harder and harder to fight the more time he spends with Peter and gets to know him at all angles. He sighs and rides the wave of the emotions before pressing them down to ignore. He sobers as he says, “So Sarah got some unfortunate news about her older brother. She and Steve will probably be leaving tonight to make the trip overseas to attend the grieving ceremony.”

Peter nods solemnly.

“So it’ll just be me and you, kiddo. I think she said it lasts about a week?”

“Ten days to two weeks, traditionally for the Rogers clan,” Peter confirms like he’s speaking from experience.

Tony knows that even if he asked, Peter couldn’t really tell him. He'd probably refuse to in that polite way he does, dodging the questions he can’t answer. He leaves it untouched and says, “Right, so it’s gonna be just me and you for two weeks.”

“Not the worst thing,” Peter mumbles from behind his fruit, avoiding Tony’s eyes and fidgeting. “Unless you - you don’t - don’t want to -”

“Okay, you can stop that right there because whatever you think I don’t want to do is probably not even the case. I’m only letting you know not because I’m stuck with you but because you’ll be stuck with _me_.”

Peter frowns severely and finally swings his gaze back around to meet Tony's, bristling. “You’re not someone I would classify as being ‘stuck with’,” he lightly scolds.

Tony feels his mouth twitch but he fights it so he can say, “I take that as a personal challenge.”

Peter rolls his eyes but the line of his shoulders finally relaxes as he grudgingly grins.

They finish their impaled mangos in comfortable silence.

.

.

.

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** hey tony have you heard from miles?   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** he hasnt been responding to my text all day   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** *text(s)

 **youknowwhoiam:** just tried and got radio silence too :/

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** :/   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** you wanna roll with me and do a driveby to his house to see what’s up?

 **youknowwhoiam:** i would but i’m fielding a family emergency atm

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** its all good i understand   
**snowwhiteprivilege:** i can just go and keep you posted

 **youknowwhoiam:** thanks

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** are you ok tho?

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah i’m fine   
**youknowwhoiam:** its mostly steve and sarah that took a hit   
**youknowwhoiam:** death in the family

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** yikes plz send my best

 **youknowwhoiam:** thanks will do


	25. YEAR 1: PART I - VOLUME IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV

**YEAR 1**

**VOLUME IV**

**TWENTY YEARS AGO - SUMMER OF 1999**

“D’ya know what I’ve come to find?” Uncle Morgan asked, his hands gentle on Steve’s shoulders as they stood in the backyard while his Ma buries the two goldfish Uncle Morgan won for him when he took Steve, Bucky, and Sam to Coney Island for a laugh. Steve foolishly begged for them because he thought he could take care of them, simple and easy. Uncle Morgan had never been good at saying no to Steve. So when Steve begged for the two goldfish, he got the two goldfish.

And Steve? Well, Steve had been neglectful at the very start, too busy traipsing around the neighborhood with his best friends on their bikes, and too anxious to sit indoors, despite his looming asthma and allergies. He rebelled against all his ailing conditions and sicknesses, determined to live out his childhood in all the ways he was meant to. Even his Uncle Morgan’s extended visit wasn’t enough to keep him home, though he loved the Alpha dearly. 

“You look after those fish, Steve,” Sarah had warned him over and over. How many times had he ignored that advice? Countless by that point. “Doesn’t take much.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I got it!” Steve would shout, already with a leg out of the door and a baseball bat under one arm. He'd been on his way to play a few rounds with Bucky and Sam at the batting cages with a few of the other neighbor kids. “First thing, when I get home! Promise! Love ya!”

Uncle Morgan, as usual, had already been sitting out on the front porch, swaying idly in the hanging swing he'd helped Sarah install earlier that week. There he had been, keeping to himself with his noon tea and the local paper, right when he’d caught wind of Steve’s words.  He tutted and said, “You best be careful there, laddie. Don't ever promise more than you can deliver, but always deliver more than you promise.”

Steve had rolled his eyes because his Uncle Morgan was always trying to teach him some weird adult life lessons. “Sure thing, Uncle M. I’m takin’ excellent care of Leftie and Rightie, good and proper. Yes, sir. Faithful as the day is long. Honest. Gotta go!”

Uncle Morgan just grunted and shook his head but didn’t try to keep Steve any longer.

That night, by the time he’d gotten home, peppered in bruises with his knees scrapped to hell, Leftie and Rightie were belly-up in their bowl. The guilt had twisted inside Steve something awful that he’d wailed with great big fat terrible tears and confessed all his sins to Uncle Morgan and his Ma. They had comforted him, and helped his grieving by digging out a space for his fallen aquatic friends in his Ma’s garden, right near where she grew lavender.  

Steve, dressed in a black, wearing his mother’s mourning veil that she’d kept after his Da died. He had Uncle Morgan’s initialed handkerchief clutched to his heaving chest while his Ma, dressed in black as well, ready to indulge and humor Steve's dramatic whims, lowered the skinny shoebox into the ground. Steve had painted a mural over that skinny shoebox with all his best watercolors in penance for his neglect.

“D’ya know what I’ve come to find?” Uncle Morgan asked, dressed in black as well, his hands gentle on Steve’s small shaky shoulders as they stood and watch his Ma use a small shovel to bury that box. “There's two things we’ve got no choice for.”

Steve sniffs and lets Uncle Morgan turn him to face the older Alpha with the grip he has on his shoulders. He lowers himself on a knee so that they can be eye level. “What’s that?” he asks curiously, voice still nasally with his grief and guilt.

“Death and love,” Uncle Morgan clarified. “Neither of us know when our number may be called from either pool. We no not the day nor the hour nor the second either may happen. One is a blessed thing and the other a wretched curse.”

“I don’t ever wanna die!” Steve wept, inconsolable. “I don’t ever want you to die or Ma or Bucky or Sam or anyone I love. It’s not fair!”

“No!” Uncle Morgan passionately agrees, shaking Steve slightly with the words. “No, laddie. It’s never fair. Take it from me, I know better than most about that. But what man has stood before Death and refused successfully instead of postponing? It’s impossible, but y’know what I've learn to accept? That it’s not all for naught, Steven." He cups a hand against Steve's trembling jaw as silent tears continue to paint translucent lines down his red cheeks. "Balance. It’s all about balance. It cannae be skewed, for a dreaded crack in the natural order could open up the void and swallow us whole. There’s a greater system at work and we must trust it.”

“Well I think that the system is dumb,” Steve mumbled petulantly.

Uncle Morgan laughed and clutched him close, right to his heart. “Oh my dear boy. Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, and love leaves a memory no one can steal. So this is why we must be Nostagic Dragons, aye? And horde as many memories of the people we love so that they never die. Understand?”

Steve sniffed and hugged the older Alpha back fiercely. “I think so.”

“Good. You’re gonna survive me one day, laddie. A turkey never voted for an early Christmas, if you catch my meaning. So I need you to immortalize me in that head of yours. What d’ya say?”

Steve nodded and swore on it.

.

.

.

**PRESENT DAY**

“I think you should take her to the edge of the farm,” Tony urges lowly as they stand before the security checkpoint at the airport at three in the morning on a Monday. His Ma and Peter are standing off to the side to give them their moment. “When you get there, point at the moon and ask your mom if she thinks the Moon is in love with the sea.”

Steve doesn’t understand it. His head feels in a fog - is his heart still beating in his chest? Christ, he feels so numb, still in shock and denial. Why Uncle Morgan? Why’d it have to be Uncle Morgan? Of all the wicked and rotten people on Earth, his Uncle Morgan has to be the one to suffer in the end? And his Ma … he’s sure it’s tearing her into as many pieces as it is Steve. 

Uncle Morgan had been the only connection they had to their neglectful family overseas. Now that connection was forever gone.

“Steve, stay with me. Look at me, lamb.”

Steve exhales shakily and blinks, focusing on the asymmetrical angles of Tony’s cheekbones and how beautifully handsome his husband is. It beats thinking about the pain by a long shot.

“Now I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I won’t even try. But know that I love you very much and I will only be one phone call away, no matter what time. Please know that. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Steve swallows against the lump forming in his throat and gives a sloppy nod. He sniffs, eyes hot and nose congested.

Tony cups a hand over his jaw and they stare at each other, gazes locked as though they were looking into each other’s soul. “Your mother said that her brother used to take her to a hill to look at the seaside and talk about the moon. Promise me you’ll do that for her. I think it would - that she would - it might give her some peace. Can you promise me to try that?”

“I promise,” Steve mumbles and sniffs again.

Tony takes Steve’s hand and presses it to his side, over the curve of bone where his ribcage rests and to the steady heartbeat found there. “Listen, I think you need this more than me so take my heart with you, okay?” he lightly jokes.

Steve huffs, both surprised and yet unsurprised that Tony can manage to draw such a reaction from him even in this difficult time. “Thanks,” he says quietly, fingers twitching over Tony’s chest. “I’ll keep it safe.”

Tony kisses him, soft and sweet. Then he pulls away to press their foreheads together. “Call me when you land,” he urges.

Steve nods, pulling him close in the next second, clutching onto him for dear life as he buries his nose in the side of Tony’s neck where one of his most prominent scent glands lie. He inhales, setting the scent of pine-cones and peaches to memory.

“Steve,” Sarah calls and Steve closes his eyes against her voice, knowing what she will say. “We’ve got to go, _Mo Cuishle._ They’ll not wait for us.”

Steve sighs and pulls back to kiss Tony deeply, soundly, desperately, before wrenching himself free of the temptation to extend it well into the early morning hours. He leaves Tony gasping and blushing at the bold display of public affection but Steve has to take advantage of the fact that this is the one time Tony won’t scold him for it. When he’s at Sarah's side as they finally join the winding line leading to the walkthrough detectors, he turns and waves at Tony, and Peter, who’s sticking close to Tony's side, fidgeting anxiously.

Tony returns it with a soft smile until they can no longer see each other.

Steve feels his nerves finally sink-in as he collects his shoes, his phone, and his carry-on from the automated conveyor belt. The thought of how long this flight is, well, it makes him unflatteringly anxious and agitated. He hates flying so much, and he hates leaving Tony and Peter behind even more. There’s always this disturbing thought that crosses his mind when he's getting ready to board a place, which is that though he may very well survive the take-off, there's a chance that he may never survive the landing. 

“Are you hungry?” Sarah asks when they’ve located their terminal and designated boarding gate. 

Steve shakes his head no as he sets down his things and starts to pace.

“Yeah,” Sarah agrees as she blows her nose. Her eyes are as red and swollen as Steve's must be. “My stomach’s in ruins. Like a - one of those, glory me, what’re they called?”

“Trampolines,” Steve answers absentmindedly. 

“Right!” Sarah exclaims, gathering a few sleepy-eyed glares, not that she cared. “Anything I’d try to stuff down my gob would bounce back up, it would.”

Steve only understands because he feels the same way. Hunger seems to be such a foreign, almost forgotten feeling - the same as happiness. God, it feels like he’d never know happiness again.

“Oh, darling, please don’t wear a hole in the ground. Come sit with me for a little while,” Sarah urges. “Come, come. I know you hate flying, dear. I’ll take your mind off of it, if you be willing to give me a try.”

Steve sighs and plants himself beside her. “Sorry. Ma, I’m - I should be trying to comfort you.”

“Nonsense,” Sarah disagrees. “We’re family. We comfort each other.”

Steve huffs sadly. “Fair point.”

“The fairest,” Sarah stresses, grabbing his hand and patting the back of it affectionately. “Now, why don’t I tell you about the time Morgan and I built a lemonade stand to raise money to go see ABBA, only to find out that they were breaking up?”

.

.

.

_Tony Rogers has added you and Peter Rogers to the group chat “Swiss Family Rogers”._

**youknowwhoiam:** how’s the flight

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** ma and I hat have takn advtge of teh inflight max drinks  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** also the clouds up here so weirid  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** shood i tell somone

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh lamb

 **thefrogprince:** lol is it true that you get drunker faster at 37,000 feet?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ **  
****brooklynfisticuffs:** hey pete 

 **thefrogprince:** yeah?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** why that name

 **thefrogprince:**???

 **youknowwhoiam:** i think he’s asking about your name in the group chat

_brooklynfisticuffs liked youknowwhoiam’s ‘i think he's asking about your name in the group chat’ message_

**thefrogprince:** oh lol   
**thefrogprince:** it’s like a meme about me  
**thefrogprince:** in the future, someone online on a social media platform said i do this frowny thing where it looks like i’m hiding a frog in my mouth

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** rude

 **thefrogprince:** lol no it’s ok  
**thefrogprince:** i think it’s funny  
**thefrogprince:** i mean our family is pretty famous in the future so i’m used to being in the spotlight  
**thefrogprince:** it’s not the worst thing that was ever said about me

**youknowwhoiam:  
  
**

_thefrogprince and brooklynfisticuffs laughed at youknowwhoiam’s image_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** im maybe  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** sleep for little

 **youknowwhoiam:** ok you do that  
**youknowwhoiam:** please call me when you land

_thefrogprince emphasized youknowwhoiam’s ‘please call me when you land’ message_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** yes dear of corse dear  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** hey pete take care of tony for me

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh you are so lucky you are toasted right now -_-

 **thefrogprince:** i’ll keep an eye out  
**thefrogprince:** two if i can spare

 **youknowwhoiam:** uhh???   
**youknowwhoiam:** i’m grown??? 

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** yes byt your my omega  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** and if im not thre to fuss  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** gotta know somone is

 **thefrogprince:** no worries i got this

 **youknowwhoiam:** you're grounded  
**youknowwhoiam:** i can do that right?  
**youknowwhoiam:** i have genetic veto power or something

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hony b nce  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** yo both cn lookout fr ech oher  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** my good omegas

 **youknowwhoiam:** aww you softie  
**youknowwhoiam:** can’t stay mad at you alpha

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** u shld nevr b mad at me

 **youknowwhoiam:** whatever you say boozy :)

 **thefrogprince:** lol why are you guys like this

.

.

.

Cousin Hamish is there to meet them when they land in the small airport of Ma’s hometown at eight o’clock at night because they'd flown SAS Ireland with a one-stop.

Cousin Hamish, who he’d never met but heard of through great affectionate complaints from his Uncle Morgan, looked nothing like how Steve imagined. Though he’s unsurprisingly tall, as Steve is starting to suspect is a shared Rogers trait that he had and never would b exposed to. He also had friendly ocean blue eyes, the same Sarah has, the same Steve, himself, has. His face was mostly obscured by a red scraggly beard that clung to his skin like winter ravaged ivy tendrils.

“Oh Hamish!” Sarah greets, throwing her arms around his large frame, ignoring that he’s dressed in dirt-streaked overalls. “Oh look how you’ve gone and grown on me!”

“Could say the same of you, my dear,” Cousin Hamish laughs, and it’s a jolly, gut rumbling kind of laugh. “And this must be Steve! Christ, you look like your mother spit you right out, you do. Don’t be shy, boy. Come embrace yer family then!”

Steve is swept up into a bear hug before he can politely refuse, and he swears he hears a few bones creak. 

“Let my boy go, affectionate beastie,” Sarah chortles, swatting playfully at the Alpha’s shoulder. 

“Ack, sorry!” Cousin Hamish’s face colors with the hue of strawberries as he swiftly drops Steve to his feet again. Then he claps a hand roughly onto Steve’s shoulder, making him jolt forward. “I’m just so happy to see you, despite the reasoning for the reunion.”

Steve is all at once glumly reminded of the purpose of their visit and feels heavy stones of grief settle in his stomach once again.

His Ma hides her grief behind a plastic, cheery half-grin. “Yes, shame that,” she merely says. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get off my feet and get some proper food in my stomach. The airlines these days try to poison you with the rubbish they ration out. Only thing that holds true is the liquor, by and by.”

“Well, worry not then. The wife’s cooked a lovely little meaty stew for the occasion. Plump with potatoes, it is,” Cousin Hamish promises as he grabs most of their bags and walks it to his rusty beat-up truck, tossing their things in the back. “Told her not to make such a huge fuss, but you know my Abbie. There’s no such thing as overboard when it comes to family the way she tells it.”

“Ah, we are immensely grateful, nevertheless. For the hospitality,” Sarah assures as they all climb into the front of Cousin Hamish’s truck with Steve in the middle. “You’ve shown us more kindness than I’ve seen since - well.”

“Aye,” Cousin Hamish agrees solemnly. “Always thought it was a shame, the way us and ours cast you and Joseph out like that. Ah! But I’m sure with time and space, and with this unfortunate loss, minds are sure to have changed and hearts have surely softened.”

Steve notices the way Sarah grimaces at that. She’s probably thinking what Steve is thinking: it’s really unlikely. He’s trying not to think about how their time here may play out. He doesn’t want to think about why he’s here at all. He stares out the window at the grassy hills and the different wildflowers dotted across them while the sun sets. 

They have to stop a few times to let different herds of animals pass them by: geese, sheep, wallabies and etc. Then they finally reach the welcoming town sign that reads: 

The town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart, with buildings planted on either side of the divide made by the roads. The streets were the veins, paved with dark red stones, and the people were scarcely seen. 

“Oh it’s, ah, it’s due to the new curfew,” Cousin Hamish explains when he stops at the next red light, fiddling with the neckline of his sweater nervously. "New curfew puts people in their houses before the clock strikes nine."

Steve sees them first, soldiers of Hydra, taking what looks like a scheduled march through the streets, flanking at least ten soldiers deep.

One moment they are there, armed in uniform with that stupid fucking nazi symbol of evil on a band around their arm and black, shiny helmets that make them look faceless, and then the next moment they are arrogantly marching onto the next street.

It makes Steve sick to his stomach.

He turns to his Ma, expecting to see the same look of outrage and disgust that he knows is twisting his own mouth into a frown. But instead, he just sees … guilt. Guilt and sadness but no surprise whatsoever. 

Steve really feels sick then. “Pull over,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his stomach. “Now. Now. M’gonna -”

Cousin Hamish swerves onto a curb just as Steve manages to stumble out and vomit into a nearby trash bin nearly as tall as he is. “You alright?” he asks from behind the wheel, glancing around nervously.

“I’ve got him, never you mind,” Sarah assures, rubbing a soothing circle between his shoulder blades as he continues to empty his stomach. “That’s it then, wee darling. Let all the booze go. You’ll feel lighter once it's all come up.”

Steve gags and shrugs her off, moving to stand on the opposite side of the garbage bin. “You - you _knew_ ,” he accuses. “You knew and you didn’t say anything!”

“Oh keep your voice down!” Sarah hisses, just as Cousin Hamish urges the same, still glancing around for any sign of a Hydra soldier. “It’s not for less than two weeks, son. Two weeks spent mostly on the outskirts in our family’s little corner of town. It need not be an issue.”

“How can you say that?” Steve retorts, hand curled into a fist that’s shaking with anger at his side. “You know what they do. What they are. How can any of them let this be and live like this? We should report -”

“It’s an arrangement, laddie,” Cousin Hamish quickly interjects. “You shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about. I don’t come to America and dress your politics down. I’ll thank you very much for the same courtesy.”

“There’s no excuse for letting scum like that roam the streets and set the rules!” Steve snaps with a stubborn scowl, chin wobbling with righteous indignation. “It’s not right! We’re going home.”

“No!” Sarah shouts back, bristling. “How can you ask me to turn my back on -”

“A family of assholes who’d no sooner spit in your direction, let alone _tell you_ when your brother is at death’s door!” Steve interjects, shoulders squaring as he stares his Ma down. He knows he shouldn't shout at his mother, especially not now of all times, but he's so goddamn angry and hurt. “We don’t owe them anything, and I’m sure as hell not gonna stick around someplace that welcomes a gang of murdering bullies!”

“Oy! Keep your voice down!” Cousin Hamish warns from the truck. “We’ll be late for supper at this rate. I’ll not make excuses for either of you should the wife want to have a go at ya.”

“Won’t matter, no how. I’m catching the next flight back,” Steve decides, crossing his arms. “I strongly suggest you join me, Ma.”

Sarah looks at him and shakes her head. “Don’t do this, Steve. Not now. Not to me,” she begs hoarsely.

Steve refuses to feel guilty. “You should have told me,” he says instead.

Sarah sighs, looking as if she understands that she won’t change his mind and she wordlessly climbs back into the truck before slamming the door shut. She rolls the window down as she meets his defiant gaze head on. “Aye. I knew,” she confesses. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’m not perfect.” She exhales shakily. “I knew you’d’ve never come with me or let me go if I told you. So I didnae because I _needed_ to be here. And I need you here with me. So before you condemn me with the rest of the townfolk, remember who it is we’ve come to pay our respects to. That man loved you and I more than life. He deserves the proper goodbye. We owe Morgan that.”

Steve clenches his jaw and says nothing.

Cousin Hamish looks between them before he says, “You’ll not want to be caught on the streets after curfew. Nothing dire will happen, but, you'll be up to yer neck in fines. Please get back in. Let’s talk about this more over a warm meal.”

Steve doesn’t move an inch. He’s not afraid of Hydra. He knows what he stands for.

“Stubborn, just like your Da,” Sarah mutters before she gestures for Cousin Hamish to drive on without him. “Come find me when you can climb out of that pit of pride of yours!” she shouts out the window from down the street.

“Fat chance!” Steve yells back, watching the truck turn the next corner and disappear out of sight. He mumbles under his breath and starts patting himself down for his phone before he closes his eyes with a regretful sigh. His phone is in the side pocket of his carry-on, which is still in the back of Cousin Hamish’s truck. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He kicks the garbage bin with a grunt of frustration, ignoring when pain blooms in his toes from the impact.

Then there’s the unmistakable steady march of boots pounding against the gravel of the streets.

Steve’s not surprised when he finds himself on the other end of a flashlight, being stared down by faceless Hydra soldiers.

The leader of the bunch steps out of the marching formation, flashlight still aimed in Steve’s face. He says, with a thick German accent, “Citizen. You are out past curfew. State your name so that you may be given a citation.”

Steve holds up a hand to shield himself from the blinding light being aimed his way. “Fuck off,” he spits.

The Hydra soldiers murmur amongst themselves, marveling at the disrespect being thrown at their leader. The leader chuckles and says, “Ah, American. Unsurprising. You are now in violation of two offenses: breaking curfew and inappropriate language. Please state your name so that you may be issued these citations.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replies with a deadpan expression. “Maybe I’m not being clear. You can eat shit.” He points at the leader. Then points past him to his flank of soldiers. “And you can eat shit. You and you and you. And you. Yeah, all the way in the back? You too, buddy. In fact, you can all eat shit. Now, how's that for a citation?”

The leader yanks an intimidatingly thick stun baton from the holster on his waist. He points it at Steve threateningly as it sizzles and crackles with electricity at one end. “Friends, it would appear that this young gentleman is begging us to make an example of him,” he says, practically hissing the words.

The soldiers titter in amusement, whispering chants of _"Hail Hydra!"_ under their breaths.

Steve shifts his stance and plants his feet, daring them all with a glare.

A different soldier suddenly pulls away from the flock and sways menacingly slow towards Steve in some sort of catwalk death march of doom until they are only a few feet apart. This soldier, with their back to the rest of the pack, speaks with deep yet punctuated Russian.

Suddenly everyone is bursting out into hysterical laughs before disbanding, clapping the lone soldier on the shoulder as the leader hands this soldier the stun baton, saying with deceptive pity, “Poor little thing will have wished he’d known the mercy of my swings. I’d say your time with my friend here will more than pay out your civic debt. Though, the citations would have been kinder than time spent with our White Wolf. Enjoy.”

There is more murmur of agreements and laughter before the evil flock of uniformed thugs moves their patrol to the next street over, leaving Steve and the lone soldier alone.

Steve opens his mouth to give a piece of his mind when he’s yanked into the nearest alley by the neckline of his shirt. “What the hell are you - hey! Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The soldier shoves him into a corner, further into the shallows of the alleyway before removing the shiny, black helmet.

Steve watches, shocked, as Bucky pushes his long hair out of his face, his eyes heavy with black eye shadow. “Buck …?” He’s on the Beta in a second, hugging him close and tight as the other man laughs. “Bucky, Christ, I - I can’t believe - Christ.”

“I can’t go anywhere without you making trouble for yourself,” Bucky sighs, squeezing him one last time before shoving him off with a severe frown. “For fuck’s sake, Stevie! The hell is wrong with you, going toe to toe like that with a pack of wolves armed to the teeth? What, you and your fuckin’ fists are an equal match for coldblooded killers? Why are you out here?”

“I could ask the same of you!” Steve replies, cheeks flaming with embarrassment as he shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “You said you were in Sokovia!”

Bucky shushes him and glances over his shoulder for a minute before he relaxes. He turns his steel blue eyed gaze back onto Steve and says, “You and that fucking mouth, I swear. Keep your voice down, will you? Guys think I’m beating the shit outta you or something. Can’t even think of what they’d do to us if they caught us chumming it up like old pals.”

“Yeah, well, we _are_ old pals,” Steve says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “At least that’s what I thought up until this devastating reveal. Since when did you sell your soul to fucking Hydra, huh?

Bucky huffs and shoves him again. “Jesus, Steve. Easy on the language. I’m the gutter mouth in our triad. Remember? You’re the heart and Sammie’s the brains.”

Steve snorts but doesn’t argue that particular point.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Uncle Morgan, he … he died not too long ago. Ma and I came to attend ceremony.”

“Shit, Steve.” Bucky looks stumped. “Heard that someone in the Rogers clan passed but I didn’t know who - shit. I’m sorry.”

Steve nods and accepts the consoling shoulder squeeze that Bucky gives him. “Anyway, Ma and I had words when I found out that Hydra was running things and she didn’t tell me.”

“Well, can you blame her? You know how you get, and plus, you know, your uncle meant a lot to her. You would have tried to talk her out of coming.”

“Stop being reasonable,” Steve mumbles with a sad smile. He’s already feeling bad about how they left things. “Enough about me. Please tell me you didn’t switch allegiances.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “C’mon. Let me walk you out of town, and then I’ll explain.”

“Oh yeah? Sure it’s not some excuse to murder me and dump my body where no one will find?”

“Well, that too.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

.

.

.

“Listen, I don’t exactly feel right about airing your family’s dirty laundry like this, but,” Bucky hesitates as they walk down a long stretch of road leading to the outskirts of town towards the seaside with nothing but his flashlight helping them cut through the darkness and a billion stars over their heads surrounding a half-moon. “What’d your Ma ever tell you about your pop’s side?”

Steve just shrugs as gravel continues to crunch under their feet, followed by the sound of crickets. “She don’t speak on them much, except to say they were very well to do and disowned my Da when he ran away with my Ma. Why?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long time. He looks like a stranger in his Hydra uniform, his helmet nestled under one arm as he uses his free hand to aim the flashlight at the road ahead of them. He sighs and says, “What’s your pops last name?”

“Last name?” Steve frowns curiously. “Dunno. Ma never really likes to - I mean I once found something of my Da’s when I was a kid. A poetry book of his he’d initialed with a ‘N’ next to his name and the year before he met my Ma. Closest I ever came to it.”

“Nomad,” Bucky clarifies and suddenly Steve is struck with an odd feeling of foreboding. “He’s Peevish Joseph Nomad the Fifth of the Nomad Family - the founding ancestors to this town. Nomad’s Hospital. Nomad’s Drug Store. Nomad’s every fucking thing every fucking where. Makes a whole helluva lot more sense when you put it in that perspective of why both sides of the family lost their shit. Your Ma pretty much ran off with a legacy.”

Steve stops short, freezing as the information sinks in. “That’s - are you saying - but - Ma said it was just a vineyard that - no, wait. I -” He feels a little dizzy and so he does the only logical thing, which is to sit down on the side of the road while Bucky watches him with pity. “Christ, why wouldn’t she tell me that? First this Hydra thing, and now this … Christ.”

“Nah, go easy on Sarah. Nomads are, and excuse me for talking about your blood like this, but they’re fucking nuts. Full-on Hydra supporters. Eight years ago, your old man’s old man, Peevish Joseph Nomad the Fourth, made a lotta bad investments. And, in a fit of desperation, doubled down on the one thing he had left to bargain: the deed to this town. Red Skull finds out that it’s up for grabs and deploys some troops out this way, kept it all quiet - made examples of any snitches, which was good for keeping this little town out of the media limelight. Apparently this whole place is sitting on good soil for crops and such. Not sure if you’ve watched the news lately but, shit, Stevie, there’s a famine going on. Climate crisis is fucking over everyone and Hydra’s trying to strongarm as many resources as they can get their slimy hands on. S’why my CO’s got me doing this undercover bullshit. Hydra’s preparing for something and it ain’t got nothing to do with WWIII. If anything, that’s a distraction.”

Steve thinks back to what Tony said all those weeks ago and how it’s nearly along the same thread. “So if it’s not a war they’re spoiling for then what?” he asks, putting the unsettling revelations about his Da’s side of the family on the back burner so he can freak out about that later. “What are they up to?”

“That’s the fucking gazillion-dollar question, ain’t it?” Bucky grunts and drops to sit down beside him so they can be two fools sitting in the dark on the side of the road together. He turns his head and spits off to the side. “I tell ya ... if I could get my hands on whatever contract Red Skull commissioned with your gramps before he kicked the bucket, I’d be on the next flight home to D.C. and putting all this behind me.”

Steve doesn’t even let himself think as he offers, “Maybe I could, you know - maybe I could help you with that.”

Even in the dark, there’s no missing the absolute mutinous glare Bucky aims his way. “Don’t be stupid, Rogers. Like hell I’mma let you put your neck out there for me that way,” he protests.

“Oh, and why the hell not? You can run off and play at war but I can’t?”

“Hey, fuck you, pal. This ain’t no game,” Bucky growls, standing to his feet so he can tower over Steve. “You’ve no idea the things that - that I had to - that they made me - I …” He stops short and laughs weakly. “You … you see the things I’ve seen and you do the things I’ve done with an invisible American flag waving like a proud banner behind you and there’s just - there’s this fucking part of you that just - _poofs_ \- goes missing. It’s like being exposed to colors you wished you’d never even knew existed for how awful and twisted they look - little creature like things. But it sticks to you, like a fucking nicotine patch. You go around knowing that other people can’t see the colors you’ve seen, but that’s why you fight, right? So they may never know what they don't know. S’why I joined up and shipped out and took this assignment. But now I’m the one seeing all these colors and I can’t do nothing about that. You can’t ask me t' show you that too.”

“Till the end of the line - ain’t that what we always say? What we always mean?” Steve stands to his feet when he feels he can manage it. “You can’t expect me to pass up on an opportunity to get you home. I got a shot at checking your six and I’m gonna take it, Buck. Don’t ask me not to when you or Sam would do the same for me.”

Bucky sighs. He says, “Go home and make nice with your Ma. Don’t contact me and don’t go into town if you can avoid it. If I can run it past my CO to get you, a _civilian,_  involved then - then _maybe_.”

“Not much more I can ask,” Steve mutters, unhappy but willing to compromise. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky huffs and cuffs him playfully on the shoulder. “You just don’t do anything stupid until I say so. For fuck’s sake, please don’t instigate any more fights with Hydra, alright?”

“From my lips to God’s ears, Buck. I’ll be a saint,” Steve drawls and snickers when Bucky shoves him again. "You, uh, you heard about what's happening back home with your Ma and Becca?"

"Yeah. Sammie's last email told me all about what that dirtbag sire of mine has been up to."

"What are you -"

"Leave it, Steve."

"But -"

"I said leave it," Bucky firmly interjects. "I can't think about that right now, not when I'm doing this. Cut me a fucking break. Leave it."

Steve swallows down his reply and nods shortly.

“This is as far as I can take you. Here.” Bucky hands over his flashlight before he puts his helmet back on. The voice modulator warps his voice again as he goes on to say, “You keep straight for another mile and you’ll hit the Rogers Territorial Division.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, watching his best friend walk away with a lump forming in his throat. “Hey, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses and turns.

“Be safe.”

Bucky scoffs. “Ain’t nothing safe about what I’m doing. But for you, I’ll consider it.”

Steve shakes his head with a fond smile and watches Bucky walk away until he can’t anymore.

.

.

.

Steve would’ve gotten lost if it weren’t for the crossroads sign that has each designated family member’s name on it, pointing in a specific direction. 

Cousin Hamish’s name is listed at the very bottom, aimed west where his small farm is located just on the edge of the main farm where Steve’s grandparents stay, nestled like the heart of the territory with the extended family planted all around them. It’s like a small community of its own; a fellowship of nothing but flesh and blood. 

He wonders what life would have been like for him if his parents had been allowed to stay and just as quickly he puts the thought out of his mind. He’d done enough daydreaming about that when he was a small child.

There’s a pair of Border Collies lounging out on the front porch when Steve finally arrives at Cousin Hamish’s doorstep. They sniff curiously at Steve for a moment before licking at his hands and showing him affection.

“They know you’re kin,” Cousin Hamish explains when he happens upon them with a shotgun, mentioning something about nightly patrols. “They don’t attack family. Bred that way to respect and obey us and ours.”

“I’m sure that comes in handy most days,” Steve remarks, rubbing them down one final time before he turns to face the older Alpha. He clears his throat. “I, ah, wanted to apologize for the scene I made earlier with -”

Cousin Hamish shakes his head fervently and waves the transgressions off. “You’ve got no animosity that’ll come from me, laddie. You’re firm on what you stand for. Never apologize for it. It's not the Rogers way. You’ve got it honest, it seems. S’long as you understand that the way things are … well, it’s because of survival. Not but eight years ago, we were all hard up, starving with little to no livestock to sell and barely making ends meet. It was … the harshest harvest we’d ever been through. Hydra came and your grandfather, Satan flog his soul, gave it all over to Hydra without so much as a ‘do you mind’ to the rest of us. We’re survivors here, Steven. That’s what we were forced to do. Accept and survive. Don’t like it any more than you do but, well, we’re just country folk that hasn’t seen war. You'll find that everyone from these parts are a peaceful sort, and most are too grateful not to suffer through another famine to rise up against them, lest they be made an example of like the ones who tried in the past.”

Steve understands, though he hates to have to, he does. They’re all sheep at the mercy of ruthless wolves. It would make him sick to have to feel so powerless. He decides to change the subject. “I’m guessing I missed dinner?”

“Aye, but let’s walk around back and I’m sure we can find you something to tide you over,” Cousin Hamish says, shouldering his shotgun as he gives a sharp whistle that his dogs respond to, following Steve and the older Alpha to the back. Cousin Hamish sees to the dogs first, giving them fresh water and food before he makes Steve a quick sandwich out of the leftovers. 

Steve thanks him quietly for it, eating as he watches while the older Alpha indulges in some homemade cookies and three fingers of rum. When he offers some to Steve, he finds himself not turning it down, hoping it’ll sooth the pit in his stomach created by his grief for his dearly departed uncle and his concern for his childhood friend.

Cousin Hamish doesn’t talk much but Steve doesn’t mind. They sit in comfortable silence until Cousin Hamish starts to nod off, glass empty and crumbs running wild over his bushy red beard.

Steve rises and lets the screech of his chair jolt Cousin Hamish into awareness. He takes his plate to the sink and leaves it there upon the older Alpha’s insistence. 

“You’ll be with yer mum, just down the hall from my lovely Abbie and I, and across the room from our daughter, Merida. You’ll meet her some time or another. She’s the family sweetheart, a favorite of my brother’s, your grandad, who you’ll meet at day three of the Ceremony of Passing. Yer mum will prepare you for that if she hasn’t already.”

Steve nods wordlessly as they climb the steps together and turn right towards the end of the hall where there are two doors.

One of them reads ‘ **ABBIE** ’ in white block letters with ladybug stickers patterned all over it. He assumes the door without a name is where he and his Ma will be sleeping.

Cousin Hamish gives him a soft-spoken goodnight before he disappears down the other end of the hall.

Steve quietly slips into his shared room and lets out a soft ‘oof’ when his Ma instantly swaddles him in her arms. She goes on and on about how worried she was and how stupid it was of him to misplace his phone and how she never wants to fight like that again.

“I didn’t hide it to hurt you,” Sarah says, sometime later as they sit on the floor at the edge of one of the single beds, their shoulders pressed together. “Please believe me when I say that. I wanted to protect you.”

“Is that why you never told me that Da was a legacy?”

Sarah stiffens beside him. “How did you - who told you about that?”

Steve explains his run-in with Bucky.

“Now that’s divine intervention,” Sarah remarks at the end of it all but shoots him a stern look before slapping him upside the back of his head. 

“Ma!”

“Shush you,” Sarah hisses with a glare. “Honestly, what were you thinking, challenging those soldiers like that? And what would Tony say? You could’ve been - Lord’s mercy in heaven, I didnae even want to imagine.”

“You don’t have to, I’m fine and I won’t be trying anything like that anytime soon. Not with Bucky’s life on the line,” Steve promises. “Ma, why didn’t you tell me about the Nomads?”

Sarah sighs and takes his hand to give him a comforting squeeze. “You’re Da, when we landed in America, wanted to leave it all behind. He made me promised not to ever tell you. He wanted nothing to do with them, just the same as they wanted nothing to do with him. He was ashamed of … where he came from. What his legacy entailed.”

“Why?” Steve asks, though he already has some idea thanks to the talk he had with Bucky earlier.

“Well, dear,” Sarah continues, tentatively. “Let’s just say that the Nomads aren’t and haven’t ever been known for their strong moral backbones. Generations before your Da and even his own father had sworn some sort of fealty to the Hydra faction which allowed them the sort money and status they hold to this day. There's a ritual each heir had to go through in order to uphold it, which happens after the marriage of the firstborn. Your Da didn’t want to be another legacy of that, and he damn well didn’t want that for you either. So we agreed we wouldn’t - that we’d omit certain truths.”

Steve wants to be mad about it but he can’t. He loves his Ma too much, and loves his Da, though they’d never officially met. He can understand why they would come to such a decision. He’d also be a hypocrite too since he’s keeping a few vital details from Tony at the moment. Speaking of -

“Oh shit,” Steve hisses as he jolts with realization. “I was supposed to call Tony when we landed. He must be -”

“I called him,” Sarah instantly soothed his fears. “I said you’d reach out first thing in the morning. Didnae know when you’d be back but I was sure you’d come back.”

Steve exhales a humored sigh. “Yeah. Thanks for that,” he says.

Sarah waves him off, as she’s prone to do. Then she says, “I must say. He sounded just a tad bit strange when we talked.”

Steve raises a single brow in question, curious about what she means.

“Well,” Sarah goes on to say in response to his look. “He seemed rather hurried and upset. Distracted. I - d’ya know, I’m not entirely sure, but I think I heard Miles there, fussing or weeping over something. Then there was some odd thumping in the background and some mumbling, followed by more fussing and weeping. Tony rushed me off the phone before I could ask.”

Steve hums as he imagines it, trying to make sense of the odd behavior. “I’ll ease it into the conversation tomorrow. Make sure things are okay on the homefront.”

“Aye.” Sarah climbs to her feet with a groan, holding her lower back. “It’s time for these old bones to get to bed. We’ll talk more in the morn about what to expect in the upcoming days.”

Steve nods before moving to the opposite side of the room to kick off his shoes and plug in his phone, which had gone dead, before he gets some shut-eye. He’s suddenly immensely grateful that Tony and Peter are far from here.

.

.

.

Tony doesn’t pick up when Steve tries to call him first thing when he wakes up the next morning. He blames it on the time difference and thinks nothing else of it as he leaves a message, “Hey, honey. I think it might be three in the morning where you are if my math holds up. Ah - listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call you when we landed. Things have been … they’ve been crazy over here. More than what I expected and I haven’t even met the family yet. Well, outside of Cousin Hamish, who is … well, he’s just fine. Nicer than what I imagine the others will be. Uh - yeah, anyway, call me as soon as you get this so we can talk. I love you. Oh and give my best to Peter too.”

Steve sighs and starts getting ready for the day. He showers quickly and dresses in something casual, unsurprised to see that his Ma’s side of the room is neat and tidy with her nowhere in sight. She hadn’t been there when he woke up and she’d always been an early riser. He grabs what he needs (phone, wallet, etc) and tucks them into the pockets of his jeans before he goes in search of the others.

The only person he can find is Cousin Hamish’s wife, Abbie, in the kitchen washing the dishes as she listens to some rather traditional Celtic music via the hand radio resting on the window sill above the sink.

Steve clears his throat, so as not to give her a fright.

Abbie turns his way and makes a delighted sound, quickly wiping her hands dry on the apron tied around her waist. “Oh, you must be Steven! Come here, you!” She stretches out her hands and meets him halfway so they can hug. She pulls back and cradles his face. “So handsome. Just like yer mum and my Hamish. Must be a good gene pool, wouldn't you say? Explains why my Merida has the face of an angel.”

Steve flushes and snickers. “You’re too kind,” he says, easing the Omega’s hands away from his face so he can properly shake them instead. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Aye,” Abbie firmly agrees, kissing him on the cheek before she twists away to fix him a plate of eggs, biscuits, and whiskey-glazed sausage without checking to see if he’s even hungry. She ushers him to the table and urges him to sit while also pouring him a cup of freshly brewed tea. “Awful business with yer mum and the rest of the family.” She returns to the sink with a sigh. “But I have to say, there wasn’t an Omega in town that didn’t nearly die of jealousy when your Da was whisked away to America with the love of his life. It’s what we all dream of or fantasize about. A choice.”

Steve takes a moment to chew and swallow, thinking carefully over a reply. He says, “I’m sorry it can't be that way for everyone.”

Abbie shoots him the warmest look. “Sarah’s raised you the right way. Not even my Hamish is as sensitive, lord knows he tries, bless him, but he’ll never truly understand. Abbie’s better, thank Christ for that. I worked hard to make sure that girl grows into an Alpha that's not some fly by night knothead, dropping her seed from here all the way to the city limits -”

Steve chokes on his next bite, stuck between incredulous laughter and disbelief.

“- but I tell you what, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. My Hamish and I have seen true to that,” she continues, unaware as she scrubs down a pot. “Between us, we even use yer Sarah as a fine example of what to aspire to.”

Steve snickers at that. “Ma would love to know it,” he says with a mouthful of food.

“Aye,” Abbie agrees with a cheerful laugh. “Which is why we’re keeping this between us.” When she calms down, she says, “What about you, Steven? How’ve you been? Heard you’ve bent the knee.”

“Yeah, I’m married,” Steve confirms, taking a moment to envision Tony in his mind.

“Oh my, look at that! You’ve gone all rosy in the face. Must be some O.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees absentmindedly, distracted by the longing he feels, which he tries to wash down between careful sips of tea. “He keeps me honest.”

“As he should,” Abbie chortles. She goes back to humming to herself as she washes the dishes and Steve quietly finishes his food. There’s suddenly the whine and screech of a screen door as it slaps against the frame. “Who’s that then?” she ponders as she dries her hands.

Three handsome Alphas, all as tall and as wide as the doorway they step through, with fiery red hair that reaches to their shoulders, pale freckled skin, and ocean blue eyes. They seem to swallow up the space between the sink and the fridge with uproarious greetings that make the whole room nearly tremble with the volume.

“Oy! Shut it!” Abbie yells with delighted laughter as the three Alphas all take turns sweeping her up into an affectionate hug before passing her around so they all have a chance at it. “Put me down, ya wee kerns!”

“D’ya hear that then? Auntie Abbie has no love for us!” one the Alphas complain, setting Abbie to her feet with an exaggerated pout.

Abbie merely slaps the top of his head with a spoon. “It’s called manners, Fergus. You’re the oldest, and so Agustus and Birdy look to you.”

The one called Fergus just smirks roguishly as his brothers mirror the look.

It’s only then that Steve realizes that they’re triplets.

“Let’s not be rude. Say hello to yer family, who’s hopped all the way across the drink to be here,” Abbie remarks with a pointed look.

Suddenly Steve is being pinned under a cluster of placid gazes, neither hostile nor welcoming, from his younger cousins. They look to be about nineteen. 

“Aye,” Fergus speaks, cracking his neck. “Forgive me and mine, Cousin Steve. S’just that you’re so wee, I hardly spotted you. Must be the Nomad blood. They were always so frail and delicate.”

Agustus and Birdy snicker under their breaths as Steve’s face burns at the underlying insult. Agustus says, “Hush now, Fer. We’re in the presence of a little lord.”

“S’true,” Birdy adds. “Nomads have the blood of kings and queens running through their veins, the way they tell it.”

“Aye, one must pay proper respects,” Fergus agrees as the three of them take off their imaginary hats and lean into a sarcastic bow.

“Oh push on!” Abbie snaps, slapping the Alpha triplets with the end of her wooden spoon as they grunt in pain. They hold up their hands in surrender as she continues to wave her spoon threateningly. “Now I’ll have no more of that nonsense. He’s a Rogers, and we’ll treat him so. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fergus quickly agrees, looking shame-faced as his brothers echo the sentiment. 

“Good. What brings you this way?”

“We’re looking for Uncle Hamish. Wilfred’s on the loose again and Uncle’s the only one that knows how to tame the wee devil,” Fergus explains as his brothers nod. “Would’ve asked Merida but she’s helping Grandad and Uncle Gulliver and Uncle Keegan round up the sheep for shearing.”

“Bad luck, that,” Abbie replies as she moves back to the sink to continue her washing, turning her back on them all. “My Hamish has gone to market in town with Sarah to sell the eggs for profit.”

The Triplet's faces twist up in identical expressions frustration.

Fergus suddenly grins wolfishly as he bumps his elbows into Birdy and Agustus’s arms. He says, “Cousin Steve! What say you to joining us in rounding up that old crusty, cantankerous hog? Four against one might help us with our odds against the crafty wee piglet. Think of it as a peace offering.”

“Aye,” Agustus quickly agrees, face brightening as well. “Good introduction as ever to the rest of the family.”

Steve’s not so sure. “I don’t really have any farming experience,” he admits, finishing up the last of his tea.

“Nonsense!” Birdy exclaims, clapping his hands together jovially. “Put it to ya this way - yer mum’s got everyone’s knickers in a bunch, what with skipping off with yer Da the way she did. They don’t think much of you now, but think of what they’d say if they saw you earning yer keep and lending a hand.”

Steve supposes that’s a fair point. He didn’t really come here to make waves, and he’d do anything for his Ma if it meant helping her get back into the good graces of the family. “Sure, yeah. Alright. What do I need to do?”

Fergus smirks, mirroring the expression already seen on Birdy and Agustus’s face, and he says, “Good pair of boots could help avoid the slip and slide of the mud. You might be the same size as my sister so I’ll lend you hers.”

Steve nods and follows them out of the house without question.

.

.

.

“Assholes,” Steve mutters under his breath as he holds his hands in front of him to try and calm down the huge black pig that’s tackled him into the mud at least three times now. Steve only realized after the second time that his cousins were having a laugh at him, seeing as how they locked him into the muddy pen with the moody pig, deciding at the last minute to be spectators. “Nice pig,” he mutters as it snorts, wiggling its nose as it stomped it's front hoove into the ground threateningly.

“Oof, I wouldnae call him 'pig'. That's Wilfred Wilber Rogers - the oldest pig on the farm. We call him Mr. Wilber, Cousin Steve!” Birdy calls out from where he’s leaning on the outside of the wooden fence. “He’s the descendant of Viking pigs, he is!”

“Show him some respect and perhaps he’ll be much obliged to return the favor!” Agustus adds.

“Aye, hide the fear!” Fergus instructs while they all laugh and watch as Wilber tackles Steve into the mud again. “Oof, nearly had him there that time. Give it another try.”

Steve unsticks himself from the suction of the wet mud, covered in the junk from head to toe, no thanks to the boots he’s borrowed to keep his footing. He glares over at his snickering cousins. “What happened to four against one?” he yells back at them.

“D’ya know at the end of it, we thought you may appreciate the personal victory!” Agustus replies.

“Aye!” Fergus and Birdy cheer simultaneously, holding up their insulated travel mugs and toasting their warm tea in Steve’s ‘honor’.

Steve mutters under his breath, tempted to do something childish like lob a few mud balls at the identical trio of teens as he stands on shaky legs, sore all over. It’s colder than he was expecting, and he’s got a chill now, right down to his bones, and the wet mud was not helping either. Though he’s not proud to say that when Wilber comes charging at him again, he runs while the beastly hog chases him around the pen squealing angrily and it's almost as loud as his cousins mocking laughter.

“Oh he’s yielding to you now, Lord Nomad!” Fergus jeers as his brothers wipe imaginary tears from their blotchy pink cheeks as they all roar with laughter.

“Oy!” a voice shouts just as Steve is being barreled over by that godforsaken pig for the millionth time.

One minute Wilber is shoving him into the mud, and the next he’s being wrestled away by a fifteen-year-old girl with red pigtails, denim white overalls, and a cherry pink Peppa Pig raincoat with matching boots.

Steve struggles to heave his upper body into an upright position, watching the younger Alpha scold and wrestle Wilber into submission before she manages to bully him into the holding pen with the other smaller pigs. Then she marches over to Fergus, Agustus, and Birdy with a prominent scowl that makes the older Alphas squirm. 

“How could you do that?” she shouts, sounding furious. “You know how Mr. Wilber gets around strangers! In a right panic, he was. And such a nasty prank to play on yer own kin! D’ya know I’d wish scarlet for your Oma for having ya if I didn’t love Uncle Abram dearly. Perhaps I ought to tell him.”

The Triplets go pale and immediately protest it, apologizing profusely.

“Oh don’t go crying to me, you louts! Apologize to Cousin Steve! Now!” she demands, yanking at all of their ears before knocking their heads together as they cry out against the abuse. “Quickly, then. Before I feed Mr. Wilber the good scotch and set him wild on _you_ and tell your Oma you made me cry big, fat wet tears!”

Fergus, Agustus, and Birdy can’t climb into the muddy pen fast enough to help Steve to his feet, using their own handkerchiefs to wipe him off with exaggerated smiles they aim at him and then at the fifteen-year-old Alpha glaring their way as if to say ‘See? We can be nice!’.

Steve accepts their apologies with an amused grin, waving off their attention and stepping away so they can stop fussing over him.

The Triplets promise to spread the glorious tale of Steve’s bravery in infamy through all the family circles before they turn tail and run.

Steve has to admit, he’s impressed that the younger Alpha can inspire such a reaction. “Thanks,” he says.

“Ah, no big deal. Been wantin’ an excuse to yell at those ugly goats for a while now, and you provided the reasoning. Besides, my mum would string me up if she knew I’d witness such a thing and did nothing. Would’ve made me no better than Fer or Gus or Bird, the bullies. Awful thing to trick you into when you had no idea what you were up against with Mr. Wilber.”

“Well, maybe I’m just that gullible,” Steve admits with an embarrassed flush and a self-deprecating chuckle.

She laughs and says, "You better hope not or they'll all take advantage."

Steve huffs and offers a hand. “Sorry, you know me but I don’t believe I know you.”

“Oh. Right. I’m Merida.”

“Merida,” Steve echoes as he shakes her hand before the name hits it’s mark. “You’re the daughter of Cousin Hamish and Abbie.”

“Aye,” Merida confirms with a half-grin. “Cousin Sarah asked me to keep a wandering gaze yer way. She was afraid something like this might happen. Don’t worry, I won’t let no more of the family lay into you like that.”

“Wow. My hero,” Steve teases and smiles when it gets Merida to bark out a laugh of surprise which he echoes when she starts flexing her nonexistent muscles before giving a showy bow.

“It’s no trouble, really. I've favored Uncle Morgan more than any other, just between you and I,” Merida admits as she moves to climb out of the pen with more grace than Steve is able to manage when he attempts the feat for himself. “He favored you and Cousin Sarah, and so likewise, I’ll favor you two more than most.”

“You do know who we are?” Steve warns lightly, only because he wouldn’t want to cause trouble for the younger Alpha amongst their shared kin just because she’s picking sides. 

“Course I know,” Merida scoffs like it’s a nonissue as she leads him to the hen house. “I don’t care. Makes no sense to me, if you don’t mind the honesty. Love is love. I’d’ve done the same.”

Steve huffs. “Well thanks. My Ma and I could use as many friends as we can afford while we’re out here.”

“Aye,” Merida agrees as she picks up a bucket of chicken feed. She showers it down on the ground around them, cooing at the chickens that come clucking around her ankles as they peck at the ground. “You might want to get changed. Everyone’s gathering at the Main House in an hour and a half to continue the Ceremony of Passing.”

Steve snorts at the subtle dig. “Oh? And what’s wrong with the way I am?” he jokes.

Merida laughs and says, without shame, “You smell like shite.”

“Fair enough.” Steve freezes as he pets himself down and closes his eyes with a mournful sigh. “So … what are the chances of me successfully locating my phone if I had it on me when I went toe to toe with Mr. Wilber?”

Merida merely kisses her front teeth sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs again. “That’s what I thought. Fuck.”

“Don’t worry,” Merida puts the (now empty) bucket back in its place so she can link arms with Steve to escort him back to her house. “I’ll blackmail the Triplets into finding it for you. Or at least mention something about them being too afraid to muss up their pretty flowing locks and I’ll bet they’ll sniff the device out like a bloodhound. If only to prove me wrong. They never can turn down a challenge.”

“If you don’t mind,” Steve laughs.

They talk about lighter topics, getting to know each other during the walk and Merida breaks away from the conversation to greet the pair of Border Collies that come thundering out the back door to slobber all over her. 

“Okay, okay, ya wee gremlins!” Merida shoves them away to wipe her face clean before continuing into the house. She navigates her way through the house towards the living room. “Mum! Where’s Dad? I see the dogs are here but - hang on, why’s everyone looking so ghostly?”

Steve enters after her to see his Ma, Cousin Hamish, and Abbie sitting on the lumpy couch with expressions of befuddled shock that’s aimed at the TV.

Merida turns to see what they’re looking at and she gasps. “Oh ... would ya look at that ...”

Steve walks around her to look at the screen as well as and gapes at what he sees because on the tiny screen of Cousin Hamish’s box TV is a continuous loop of this:


	26. YEAR 1: PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV

****

**.**

**.**

**.**

**  
24 HOURS EARLIER**

Tony may hate his parents, endlessly, but he can't deny that there are things he's learned from them that have aided him throughout life. Such as the art of invisible strength; masking the true self behind the muscle of the flesh, which can easily be manipulated into any angle and curve needed. He knows how to hide his sadness and fears behind a cocky grin, or conceal his anger behind an expression of aloofness. Right now, he has to pull on this skill for his husband's sake. 

Watching Steve wander through the security checkpoint with Sarah is more difficult than Tony expected. Seeing Steve wander away, out of sight, is like watching his own heart retreat into the mercy of humanity, silently praying that one day it will return to him unscathed and untouched by the loitering horrors of the world. He wants to go with them, to be with them, almost certain that the family they’re visiting overseas will be less than kind to two of his favorite people. He hates that. Hates the thought of it more than anything because Steve and Sarah are good, no, _incredible_ people and should be treated as such.

“They’ll be okay,” Peter remarks, brushing their elbows together as they stand outside the terminal while Tony attempts to hail a cab. How he seems to sense Tony's innermost thoughts, he's not even sure. In the next moment, he looks guilty when Tony is no closer to letting himself be cheered. “I’m sorry I’m the reason you had to stay behind.”

“Weird, because I’m not,” Tony quickly assures before Peter can fully engage in the blame game. It hasn’t escaped his notice that Peter’s got this sort of quickness to take responsibility for things even outside of his control, this reluctance to be a burden and it needles at Tony in such a way he can't even explain. If this is his kid, where's the art of invisible strength Tony would have surely taught him? It's odd. “Gotta say, you’re not building my confidence about my parenting skills if you think that I would ever hold a grudge for having to look after you, considering that you are, in actuality, my own flesh and blood.”

Peter gets this shifty look that he tries to hide behind a fragile smile. “No, you - you’re the best Oma in the world,” he swears. He quickly changes the subject, “So I got Nana to write out a list of do’s and don’t’s for her garden, you know, since she won't be here to look after everything. Maybe you and I can figure that out together?”

“I don’t have much of a green thumb, but sure,” Tony readily agrees, grateful for Peter’s foresight. He finally gets a cab to pull over. “Listen, I’m not too excited to go home just yet. How about you and I get a bite to eat?”

Peter perks up at that. “Can we go to the diner you and Po - Steve went to when you first met?”

“What, you haven’t already been?” Tony asks curiously but gives their driver the go-ahead to head out that way. 

Peter shakes his head. “It’s, ah, shut down by the time I’m born. Long before, actually.”

“Huh. That’s a shame,” Tony supposes. “It’s not health-related, is it?”

Peter laughs and shakes his head. “No, nothing like that but I can’t tell you why because it’s - it’d be too much.”

“Hm, fine,” Tony concedes, though he’s absolutely curious.

.

.

.

In no time, Tony finds himself outside, once again, a well lit, partially empty vinyl diner with candy red booths and ivory white floors. And just like the first time he met Steve, it begins to rain.

Peter opens the door for him and gestures for him to go in first.

Tony’s too amused to complain about it and just walks through but no one is manning the front counter. Though before he can hit the service bell, the cook leans through the order window to encourage them to seat themselves. Apparently, the waitress is wrapping up her break and will be with them shortly.

Peter grabs some menus and Tony takes the lead by navigating a course to the same booth that he and Steve once sat at themselves, all the way in the back of the restaurant.

Tony doesn’t bother flipping through his menu, pushing it aside to watch Peter jump his gaze from each picture with the same kind of interest he does with everything else (like he’s touring a museum filled with nostalgia). He’s a handsome kid, Tony will admit, if only to himself. He’s got the kind of 'sweetheart' face that’s sure to make Alphas and Betas alike become soft like butter at the other end of his doe eyes.

 _Steve and I make some good looking kids,_ Tony thinks as he watches with transparent amusement as Peter mouths certain food descriptions silently to himself. _Just more proof of how compatible we are._  

“Do I have something on my face?” Peter asks without looking up, but a corner of his mouth is curled in an amused grin that Tony immediately recognizes as his own.

“Yeah,” Tony replies. “A little of me and a lot of Steve. I find it almost unfair.”

Peter huffs. “Not sure what to tell you. Didn’t have a say in it, anyhow. Why? Am I ugly?”

“Nope, you’re fishing for compliments and I’m not taking the bait,” Tony says, grinning when it gets Peter to laugh. “Besides, you’re _my_ kid. That goes without saying.”

Peter preens adorably, eyes alight with warmth at not only the compliment but the verbal affirmation of claim.

Tony hadn’t meant to let it slip but it’s a little hard to regret the way it gets Peter to duck his head with a pleased flush. Before he can change the subject, something strange happens. The ground trembles while the lights flicker on and off and on and off until it seems to trigger a strange fifteen second power outage.

“Whoa,” Peter says as they blink at each other. “What do you think that was?”

“Random seismic activity seems like,” Tony guesses as he mulls it over. He shrugs it off. “Probably some local excavations of underground lines by some clumsy work crew. It wasn't even a minute long.”

“Yeah,” Peter says unsurely. “I guess so.” His brow furrows thoughtfully as he looks out the window at the pouring rain like he's trying to mentally pinpoint or remember something.

Tony doesn’t enjoy the look of disquiet on the younger Omega’s face. He decides to distract him. “So.” He waits until Peter is blinking his way before he continues, “Did you see the notes I left you about your projects?”

Peter instantly perks up at that, quickly shutting his menu and shoving it to the side to devote his full attention to Tony. He says, “So why shouldn’t I implement the SO-DIMM memory I’ve been building? I totally fact-checked it. That version would work best with the motherboard in the shell.”

“I get why you would think that since you’re basically using parts from this era. I’m sure you’re used to fancier, but take it from me, faster memory will give better performance, yes, but it’s gonna also lead to shorter battery life. You wanna aim to try to get 8 or 16 GB of memory for optimal everyday performance just to start. Now, this is only to get a feel of what you’ve compiled together so far. Trial and error, right? You’re building bare-bones right now, Peter. The upgrades and modifications come later when you’ve got everything in place to beta test …”

On and on, they go back and forth, and Tony is impressed with how confident Peter is about his own skills, enough to give Tony pushback about nearly all of his suggestions, forcing Tony to explain himself completely before Peter accepts the proposals and fixes.

Though there are times when Peter manages to talk Tony out of a few of the things he suggests with a counter-argument that Tony is pleasantly surprised to find himself yeilding to the younger Omega’s logic, which is not an easy feat in and of itself because Tony is quite stubborn about his own genius. But of course, his own kid could do the impossible when it comes to that area.

They barely notice when the Beta waitress waltzes over to their table, still with that same mane of fluffy black hair, looking like something out of the ’80s (her nametag says 'Lou Anne'). 

Lou Anne disrupts their verbal tennis match to say, “Oh hey! Four hundred and sixty-eight jellybeans!”

Tony gapes. “You remember me?”

“Of course I remember you!” Lou Anne says, waving him off like he’s being silly. “I remember every winner and every number they gave. Helps me stick true to our one prize per customer rule.”

Tony finds that noteworthy and without hesitation, nods to Peter. “Well I didn’t come back to try again, but he wants a go of it.”

Peter blinks, surprised and stammers over a refusal.

Tony sends him a look before he goes on to say, “So if you wanna grab the jar, we’ll see if he’s as good as I know he is.”

Loe Anne nods and disappears. 

“Dad,” Peter complains and then reddens. “Sorry. Tony, that’s - I’m good with math, sure but I’m not -”

“You’re not what?” Tony calmly interjects, propping his arm on the table so he can rest his chin in his hand. “A kid genius? I’ve got a lot of evidence to prove otherwise. It was your idea to come here, wasn’t it?”

Peter gives him a flat look for that.

Tony laughs and adds, “I tell you what, why don’t I make you a deal? You make an accurate guess and you don’t have to call me and Steve by our first names anymore when it’s just us.”

Peter’s chin wobbles stubbornly for a moment but he’s clearly interested in the proposal. Finally, he sighs and mumbles something to himself before he nods.

Lou Anne returns with a glass jar of sunflower seeds.

Peter takes it, shifting it this way and that way, brow furrowed with serious concentration. He looks a little nervous as he hands the jar back and says, “Nine hundred and fifteen?”

Lou Anne presses a hand to her chest. “That’s absolutely correct,” she confirms, laughing at the look of pure relief that passes over Peter’s face. “So that’ll be two cheeseburgers with the works, and a side of fries?”

Tony nods.

Peter says, “Actually do you have sweet potato fries?”

“We sure do, hun.”

“Oh cool. Could you swap mine for those and have the cook add it to the top of the burger and only put mayo on the bottom bun?”

Lou Anne nods and jots it down.

“Also! Could you have them smoosh it flat and let it cry?”

Lou Anne chuckles indulgently and says, “Are you from Queens? Only my Queens customers make that specific request.”

Peter laughs. “My Au Pair's from Queens,” he admits. “She's made my sandwiches like that from day one and, I don't know, guess it kinda stuck.”

“Well I tell you what, I’ll bring you out an extra order of sweet potato fries cause your so darn cute.”

The top of Peter’s ears go red and he ducks his head shyly while he thanks her.

Lou Anne tosses Tony a wink before she wanders off to put their order in with the cooks. She returns to offer some coffee which Tony accepts but Peter declines, asking for chocolate milk instead.

Tony is internally debating whether or not to add cream and sugar while he and Peter resume their earlier conversation about the proper way to do circuit wiring for wireless headphones to ensure proper pairing with bluetooth devices. He takes the first sip as Peter explains his logic behind creating a sustainable transmitter and receiver with aptx low latency when he gags at the horrible taste.

Peter laughs and immediately apologizes. “Your face is - I can’t even describe it,” he chuckles. “What’s wrong?”

“Nearly everything,” Tony complains and spits into a nearby napkin. “It tastes like they burnt the coffee, watered it down, and then burnt it again.”

“We could ask for a fresh pot?” Peter offers, perking up when he spots Lou Anne returning with their food and Peter’s chocolate milk. He widens his eyes innocently as he asks, “Do you have a fresh pot of coffee you can pour him? That cup didn’t go over so well.”

Lou Anne coos at his gentle tone and doesn’t make a fuss, quickly wandering off to do just that.

Tony snickers to himself between bites. “You’re dangerous, kiddo,” he comments.

Peter huffs. “I don’t know what you mean,” he lies.

“You know exactly what I mean, and I don’t know whether to discourage you or feel smug about the fact that you’re using the eyes _I_ gave you for evil.”

“Evil?” Peter squawks, a piece of sweet potato fry nearly falling out of his mouth. “No way. I bet you dollars to donuts I'm a perfectly angelic O always.”

Tony just hums with a doubtful grin and steals some of his sweet potato fries, groaning at the taste. “Okay, yeah, wow. These are - my god, I think I’ve found a new favorite thing.”

Peter snickers at that and pushes his fries more towards Tony. “You can have them,” he eagerly offers.

“We can share,” Tony firmly corrects, pushing the plate back between them just as Lou Anne returns with a fresh pot of coffee. She pours it and waits for him to give a verdict. It’s even worse than it was before, and Tony gags again, quickly waving off the looks of concern from both Peter and Lou Anne. “It’s fine,” he promises. “I’ll add some sugar.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Lou Anne replies with transparent doubt. “Let me know if you two need anything else.”

When they’re alone, Tony quickly snatches up Peter’s chocolate milk and drains it halfway to wash out the horrible aftertaste. 

Peter protests with a mouthful of food but his eyes gleam so fondly that it’s clear he doesn’t mind at all.

“Okay that’s much better,” Tony sighs, licking his lips and pushing the cup back over to Peter. “I’ll just make my own coffee when we get home.”

“Or you could like, you know, sleep for a few hours?” Peter suggests with a small grin.

Tony scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “You sound like Steve.” Then he sighs because he gets all sorts of sentimental feelings about his husband and the distance between them and it’s literally only been under two hours. To take his mind off of it, he asks, “Hey, Pete. What’s your favorite Disney movie?”

Peter chews and swallows with a shrug. “I’ve never seen any, so I don’t have one.”

“Hold on. Wait. Time out.” Tony even makes the gesture for ‘T’ with his hands. “What do you mean you’ve never seen any?”

Peter seems to think carefully over his next words before he explains, “All Disney products are banned globally in the future. And don’t ask me why because I can’t tell you and it wouldn’t make sense even if I did.”

Tony steals a few more sweet potato fries and chews on that bit of information. “Well right now, they aren’t, so how about we make the most of it?”

“What did you have in mind?”

.

.

.

The first thing they do when they get home is to dress down into some sleepwear.

The second thing they do is debate where they should build a nest. 

In the end, they both decide that the best area, the best neutral ground, is the dining room. They push the long table against the wall before deciding, no, not _that_ wall, it doesn’t feel right _there_ , and push it towards the window. They rearrange a few other pieces of furniture until the room feels right, make a mound of pillows in the middle of the room, and hang up a thin white cotton sheet on the wall with thumbtacks so they can use this nifty projector feature Little Ben has. 

Building a nest with Peter is, well Tony loves when Steve indulges his whims, don’t get him wrong, but god, sharing the instincts with another Omega is something else entirely. It bonds them in a way that Tony doesn’t expect and it's something he honestly would have probably avoided had he known that the emotional connection would have been so invigorating. It makes all those paternal instincts he’d been trying to ignore roar up and kick violently inside of him. 

When Peter pantomimes the right way to make popcorn, Tony feels warm tendrils of pride and fondness curl deep in his gut. Even more so when Peter appears genuinely distressed when Tony burns the first batch of popcorn, despite Peter’s very clear and easy instructions.

Tony is given a second chance to try again with Peter hovering, and they both take turns responding to the group chat Tony creates for him and Steve, who is hilariously lit off of airline liquor. It’s really not surprising to Tony because he knows how much Steve hates flying. Peter seems unsurprised too which means that even in the far future, this fact doesn’t change.

Anyway, they are so distracted by the thread that they neglect to watch the second batch of popcorn and that too gets burnt.

But Peter is too optimistic to let it be and he hands Tony the third batch of popcorn with a grave look that was amusingly too serious for the matter at hand. It still doesn’t keep Tony from grinning fondly when Peter cheers as he dumps the perfectly cooked batch of popcorn in a large bowl.

“Practice makes practical,” Peter recites and Tony has to laugh then because there’s no one else he could have gotten that from except Steve. “But watch this.” He grabs the chocolate and strawberry syrup from the fridge and sprinkles ropes of both of them over the popcorn.

Tony wrinkles his nose, unsure about the combination but when he actually gives it a try, he finds that he really likes it. 

They end up fighting over the bowl as Little Ben projects _Lady and the Tramp_ against the pinned flat sheet on the wall.

Tony only wins that show-off because Peter becomes so distracted by the movie with wide-eyed wonder that he hardly cares when Tony eats a greater portion than he does. 

Tony lies back against a thrown of pillows with Peter at his side, their shoulders pressed together, the dining room drenched in the smell of contentedness saturated with distinct stormy fragrance of peaches wafting from the both of them. 

He keeps thinking over and over how much he wants to scent Peter while they watch _The Aristocats_ but he’s too abashed at the thought of initiating that contact. He couldn’t possibly, he’s already becoming too attached as is and the fact of the matter is, well, in the end, Peter isn’t meant to stay in the long run. He's not meant for  _this_ time period.

Still, it doesn’t keep his stupid Omega hindbrain from quivering in dissatisfaction and paternal yearning. 

It also doesn’t escape his notice how much Peter fidgets beside him, restless in a way that keeps him shifting every so often and Tony realizes Peter probably doesn’t even know that he’s doing it, or doesn’t realize the reason _why_ he’s doing it.

Tony is so grateful for the cover of darkness as his face goes hot because it's a known fact that young male Omegas in Peter's age demographic usually fret that way when they are missing their Omas terribly.

Peter’s sitting right next to him, _missing him_ , and he probably doesn’t even know it. This just makes the urge to scent the fourteen-year-old stronger as it roars up inside of Tony again but he stubbornly pushes it back.

“I’m gonna go make more popcorn,” Tony suddenly announces, practically sprinting to the kitchen to get some distance between them. He curses under his breath when he notices the dejected expression Peter makes when Tony declined his offer to help. He does his best to ignore that too as he goes through the motions of making the next batch of popcorn.

By some miracle, he doesn’t burn anything and he mixes ropes of chocolate and strawberry syrup to the batch just like last time. Maybe it’s guilt, but Tony drops the bowl right into Peter’s lap as he returns to his spot beside the younger Omega and lets him go to town without even trying to take any, making an excuse about how he’s too full when Peter tries to offer it back to him.

Peter’s scent slowly shifts from sour and unhappy to mildly content as they move on to _The Lion King._  It’s not what it could be, Tony knows, but he’ll take it over the alternative. 

He means to make himself a pot of coffee so he can stay awake long enough to at least finish this movie with Peter but he’s drifting off with a small smile to the sound of Peter laughing at the antics of Timon and Pumbaa with delighted joy.

.

.

.

Tony dreams that he’s walking across still waters under a firey reddish-orange sky with no real horizon in sight. He keeps heading towards a lone pavilion made of cherry wood where Gwen stands, waiting. 

Gwen stares out ahead, eyes restless but body unmoving. That is until Tony stands beside her and she smiles sadly at the unseen horizon. “I don’t know how much time I have,” she admits. “I think maybe I’m lucky to even have this.”

Tony is understandably confused. “This? What exactly _is_ this? Where are we?” he asks. “Am I dreaming? I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Gwen says, “I wanted an apartment in Manhatten. I wanted a dog. I wanted that degree from Oxford.” She looks at him with a tearful smile. “I used to read this series of graphic novels by this author named Peter Quill when I was a little girl. It was called _Guardians of the Galaxy_ and it was about these two warrior sisters, Nebula and Gamora, who found a makeshift family during their quest to search the ends of the universe to find and defeat their tyrant father. It was my favorite series.” Her smile drops and she looks away with a dry swallow. “I would have named my daughters that.”

Tony’s heart is hammering in his chest and he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t know what this is. This isn’t like any dream he’s ever had before.

“You’ll tell Miles I don’t blame him, right?” Gwen suddenly says in the next moment. “You’ll tell him that for me?”

“Gwen … why are you acting like you’re dead?” Tony jokes weakly. “You can tell him yourself, whatever you’re talking about.”

Gwen looks away and smiles at the unseen horizon. "You know, this would all be so beautiful if it wasn't already so damn sad."

A blond man walks up to her, putting his hand on her shoulder and says, “We’ve got to go. We can’t linger here.”

Gwen nods and turns to face Tony completely, grabbing his hands and pressing something small and warm between them. She says, “You can only use it once, Tony. Only once. Don’t use it on me. It’s too late for that.”

“I don’t understand,” Tony says, deeply confused and concerned. “Gwen, what is all this?”

Gwen just looks him in the eyes, cupping a hand against the side of his face while her eyes roam over his features like she’s trying to set it to memory. Then she pulls him close, swaddling him in a tight hug. She says, very softly, “I would have loved you like a brother, you know. I would have loved you forever.”

Tony trembles without really knowing why.

Gwen pulls away and grabs the blond stranger’s hand before they both walk off together towards the unseen horizon before fading away completely.

When Tony looks down, he’s holding the yellow sparkly space rock in his hand and someone is calling his name over and over.

He wakes up with a wet gasp, still trembling and confused, his face wet with tears, his head in Peter’s lap as the younger Omega tries to soothe him, combing his fingers through Tony’s hair.

“Dad, you’re - you’re really scaring me,” Peter admits, voice wobbly with emotion while Tony stares up at him blankly, tears still sliding silently down his temple. “What’s wrong? Was it a bad dream? You were crying and mumbling.”

Tony blinks before he sits up and uses the hem of his shirt to dry his face quickly. "I’m fine, kid. Weird dreams. Probably all the sugar. Excuse me.” He’s stumbling to his feet before Peter can protest and hightailing it down to the basement to hideaway in his and Steve’s bedroom.

Once he's on the other side of the bedroom door, he lifts his shaky fist and opens his hand, the yellow space stone glimmering on his palm. He quickly moves to lift Drew up before shoving the stone under the pot, hiding it from view.

He curls up into bed, grabbing a nearby pillow to press his face into and to soak up Steve’s scent while his body trembles with haunted confusion because of his dream. He doesn't understand why he woke up with the yellow space stone when he clearly remembers that it's supposed to be still packed away with the plasma gun.

He falls into a fitful dreamless sleep, missing Steve terribly and wishing his husband was there to hold him. He decides to pretend that the dream and the weird occurrence with the stone didn't happen at all.

.

.

.

Tony isn’t surprised to find Peter curled up with Little Ben in the midst of their makeshift nest of pillows, the spiderbot humming softly as the younger Omega sleeps fitfully. The sight needles at Tony in a way he can’t ignore, feeling partially responsible, and finds himself wandering over to press his thumb on the scent gland in the grove of Peter’s throat, rubbing gently until Peter settles as Tony leaves the faintest scent mark he can, one that will fade by the time Peter wakes, so he’d never know that Tony had done it. 

He moves away when Peter stays put, sleeping more peacefully now, and smiles tiredly at Little Ben who chirps a pleasant greeting before crawling up Tony’s body. With the spiderbot perched on his left shoulder, he goes in search of his phone when he hears it buzzing insistently. 

Seeing that it’s Miles, Tony answers and finds his brow furrowing when he hears soft, shuddering sobs. Then his concern grows when Miles continues to say nothing. “Miles? Miles, listen to me for a second. I know it’s hard but take a breath because I need to know if you’re okay or not.”

Miles sounds like he’s gulping air, trying his hardest to calm down. _“I - I-I’m inv-visible,”_ is the first thing he stutters. _“I-I don’t - d-don’t know how to - h-how to s-stop.”_

“Okay ..." Tony says slowly because that’s all he can say, and honestly, he needs credit for how well he’s taking this. “We will … we will address that in a second but back up a little. Where are you?”

_“O-out - o-outside.”_

“Outside? Outside where? Outside _here?_ ”

 _“Y-y-yes.”_ Miles whimpers a little like he’s trying to really hard not to start blubbering again. _“D-didn’t - d-didn’t know w-w-where else t-to go. Uncle A-Aaron i-is still out o-of town. C-can’t g-go home. N-not like th-th-this. H-he said - h-he s-said no o-one can e-ever know. B-but - but I - b-but I -”_ He starts sobbing again, unable to finish what he’s saying.

Tony can tell the younger Alpha is dropping in a bad way and he needs to help Miles calm down before he does anything to hurt himself. He rushes to the front door as quietly as he can so as to not disturb Peter in the meantime. When he opens it, he sees absolutely nothing but he hears Miles. He can _hear_ Miles crying. His eyes search restlessly in the empty air as he gently says, “Miles?”

Miles gives another hiccuping sob and says, “I-I’m h-here.” It sounds like his teeth are chattering and that’s never a good sign.

Tony offers his hand and waits until he feels the pressure of Miles’s hand in his own before he leads the younger Alpha into the house, closing the door behind them and guides him towards his and Peter’s makeshift nest. It’s the best chance he has to keep Miles from the tipping point of dropping too violently. He’s hoping that the scent of two content Omegas will ease Miles into domspace at a slower, healthier pace. 

Miles feels like he’s trembling when Tony carefully pats up the side of Miles’s arms to get to his shoulders and then he’s carefully pushing the younger Alpha into a throne of pillows as his phone vibrates wildly in his pocket.

“W-what i-if I-I never - n-n-never turn back?” Miles weeps loudly and it’s enough to jolt Peter awake with a sleepy, confused noise.

“It’s okay,” Tony quickly assures as he fumbles for his phone and answers without looking, too busy trying to calm both Peter and Miles down, both of them sensing the other’s distress and reacting negatively to it. 

“ _Tony?_ ” It’s Sarah.

“Yes, hi, hello. How are you? Did you both make it okay? You know, I was starting to wonder,” Tony rambles distractedly as he shushes Miles who is now clinging to his waist as Peter’s eyes search wildly for the source of the sound.

“ _Aye, we’ve made it over just fine. Listen, Steve and I had a row, and he left his phone with me but I’ve called to tell you we’re fine. He’s calming down. He’ll be back and I’ll tell him to call you first thing and - Tony, is everything okay?_ ”

“Yup, uh-huh, absolutely. Things are - things are -” Tony has to quickly clap his hand over the mouthpiece of his smartphone when Peter starts freaking out as Miles’s sobs grow in volume. “Peter, _Jesus!_ Put the bible down, it’s not - we’re not being haunted! I’ll explain in a second, just calm down, pup. Can you do that? Just for a little bit. That's good.”

Miles’s arms tighten around Tony’s waist as he buries his wet face into Tony’s stomach.

Tony makes a soothing sound, combing his fingers through Miles’s coarse curls before he quickly responds to Sarah next, “Hi, yes, sorry. No, everything is just - it’s all good - everything’s fine. We’re all calm. We’re all relaxed.” He’s mostly addressing Peter and Miles when he says this.

“ _If you say so,_ ” Sarah replies sound both amused and concerned. “ _Is that Miles?_ ”

“Yes.” Tony goes on to say, “Listen, I have to go, but I’d love to hear from Steve as soon as he gets the chance. I’m glad you both made it okay. You’re in my thoughts.”

_“Thank you.”_

“Of course.” Tony quickly says his goodbyes before pocketing his phone. “Okay, kiddo. I need your help. We’ve got an Alpha that’s dropping really hard and we need to try and ease him into it.”

“Who is it?” Peter asks, hesitating.

“Miles. He’s invisible right now, which I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we’ll get to that later. Right now, I need you to make some tea or cocoa. Doesn’t matter, just need something warm. He’s shaking like he’s going into shock and I’m hoping that some temperature engagement will reel the panic in.”

Peter nods studiously and dashes off to the kitchen.

Tony continues to comb his fingers through Miles’s curly fro before saying, “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable, okay? Have you met Little Ben? Here, say hi.” He manages to convince Miles to settle back against a propped throne of pillows before dropping Little Ben in his unseen lap.

Little Ben chirps pleasantly before shifting from side to side as his abdomen begins to vibrate with a joyous whistling song.

Tony leaves them to it to go in search of a blanket and when he comes across one of Sarah’s handcrafted fleece quilts he brings it back to the dining room to drape over Miles’s shoulders. By the time Peter is pressing a steaming cup of hot chocolate into Miles’s unseen hands, the Alpha has calmed down enough to drink it. But Tony still notices the way the cup trembles from where it’s floating mid-air, as well as the quilt settled over Miles’s shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tony says after a while from where he’s sitting beside Peter in front of Miles with their legs in the shape of a pretzel under them. “We need to unburden you with all that adrenaline. It might help you, you know, reappear.”

“How do y-y-you suggest we do t-that?” Miles asks between soft hiccups. At least he’s not stuttering as severely as he had been before, so that’s a good sign.

“Direct us,” Tony offers.

Miles inhales sharply at that. “B-but I’m not - I’m n-n-not your A-Alpha.”

“No. But I trust you. I think of you as my family so it’s okay,” Tony admits, finding it surprisingly easy to keep his voice steady. But that could be because he truly means what he’s saying.

“What about y-you?” Miles asks Peter and Tony smiles slightly as the younger Omega gives an easy shrug in reply. “R-really, dude?”

Peter explains, “Tony trusts you and I really trust him so by the transitive property, I trust you.”

Tony laughs. “Yay algebra.”

Miles huffs shakily. “Wow. Okay. Let m-m-me think.” He takes a moment to breathe as he does just that. Then he says, “Can you recite the numbers of Pi?” 

Tony and Peter nod simultaneously.

Miles then asks, “Backwards?”

Tony and Peter nod again.

“Can you do that then? Please?”

Tony fights back a grin at how polite and unassuming the younger Alpha is and easily shares a look with Peter before they follow Miles’s instructions. They speak in tandem, going off of sheer memory alone, the heavy press of Miles's gaze resting on them, even though they can't virtually see it. They can only see the careful sips he takes of his hot chocolate.

By the time Tony and Peter reach the final number, Miles has reappeared but has long drifted off to sleep, twitching slightly in the seated upright position he's in against the throne of pillows.

Tony will admit that he feels a bit floaty himself. 

Peter, who appears to be in the same boat, has no qualms about curling his upper body onto Miles’s lap beside Little Ben before falling asleep.

Tony snorts and yawns. “Okay, why not?” He curls up on the other side of Miles with his back pressed to the outside of Miles’s right leg before he lets himself fall asleep too.

.

.

.

Tony wakes up well into late Monday evening to the sound of Miles murmuring gently into his phone above them while the Alpha took turns petting him and Peter with compassionate nonabrasive strokes on their heads. He’s scenting them like brothers in an absentminded way while he continues to talk in rapid paced Spanish to what sounds like his mother, consoling her over his current location. 

Tony stretches slowly with a yawn when Miles wraps up his call and he blinks slowly up at the younger Alpha. “Better?” he asks quietly since Peter is still sleeping with his cheek pressed to Miles’s thigh. 

Miles smiles shakily as he tucked his phone away. “Yeah. Thank you. I just - I can’t thank you enough,” he stammers, growing red.

Tony sits up and waves him off. “You would have done the same for me,” he points out as he turns so they are facing each other. “Now. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I stay stuck in suspense?”

The joke does the opposite of what Tony intended because instead of lightening the mood, Miles suddenly sobers, expression marked with painful sadness. “Tony, he’s dead,” he croaks.

"Who's dead?"

“Spider-Man.”

Tony stares. He stares for a long time as he absorbs that information. Then he says, “Tell me.”

Miles starts from the beginning, stating how he had this huge fight with his dad about his plans for college, or lack thereof, which drove him to go see his Uncle Aaron before he left for another business trip. He talks about the place his Uncle Aaron took him to blow off some steam, a spot he said he discovered during one of his old engineering jobs, and ties that into the picture he shared in their group chat. He goes on to reference the mention he made about the spider bite, which he hadn’t thought was a big deal at the time.

But then Miles mentions that he woke up the next afternoon - he’d been sleeping for _nearly fifteen_ _hours_ \- and it was like the entire world exploded into sharper sound, sharper color, sharper _everything_. None of his clothes fit him, he’d grown a good six inches and the _stickiness_. Miles starts ranting about how everything started sticking to him, even his Spider-Man comics, and while he was trying to get _unstuck_ he somehow ended up on the ceiling. At that point, he panicked because everything he was going through was outlined on the pages still stuck to his hand.

In suspended disbelief at the time, Miles goes on to explain that he somehow managed to calm down enough to drop to the floor and get himself sorted. He got dressed and decided to double back to take a look at the spider, convinced that he was panicking over nothing and that it was just a normal spider. He wanted to prove himself right but he ended up proving himself wrong.

So there he was, Miles continues to explain, on the other side of town, watching the dead spider flicker back and forth from invisible to visible. Then he says he got this sudden sensation in his head, like tingling vibes that ran up and down his spine and grew into a sort of electrifying prickle all around his head before _bam!_ he was dodging a boxing match between the Green Goblin and Spider-Man. He somehow gets deeply embedded in the tumble while trying to wholeheartedly avoid it just as the Prowler joins in on the action.

He talks about how he almost plummeted to his death in all the confusion before Spider-Man swooped in and saved him, putting him on a nearby stand left behind by the construction crew who’d nearly finished building a particle accelerator called ‘The Super-Collider’ designed by Octavius, funded by Drake, and built by Queenpin, who all hoped to access parallel universes.

“He promised he’d be back when he left me there,” Miles continues hoarsely, eyes going wet while Tony’s own grow a little hot out of sympathy. “He said he’d train me, said everything was going to be okay and - and the next thing I knew, Goblin’s shoving him face-first into the collider before it explodes.”

“The quake,” Tony realizes, thinking back to last night when he and Peter were at the diner. “I knew it was a surge but I thought it was - god, I didn’t think it was _that._  Is that how he - is that the way it happened?”

Miles sniffs as tears start to slide down his face, and he scrubs at his cheeks with the back of his arm shaking his head ‘no’, jostling Peter slightly, who frowns at the commotion but remains otherwise undisturbed. 

“How did it happen then?” Tony asks even though he kinda really doesn’t want to know based on the younger Alpha’s reaction.

Miles hiccups slightly as he goes into painstaking detail about how he found Spider-Man in the rubble after the blast, badly wounded but still alive. How near delirious the masked vigilante was from the blood loss, begging him to take the USB drive that will disable the accelerator while frantically warning that the machine could destroy the city if reactivated. He had made Miles promise he’d do it and to keep his identity a secret. He said he heard someone coming and Spider-Man urged him to hide, and not to come out no matter what, so that’s what Miles did.

While Miles was hiding, he watched as Drake, Queenpin, and the Prowler crowded around a badly injured Spider-Man. They begin to exchange less than civil pleasantries where Queenpin admits her reasoning for doing all this is to bring back her dead children, Richard and Vanessa, who were abducted for ransom and then murdered anyway even after Queenpin and Octavius paid the kidnappers to get their children back. 

Tony knows the story, it had been all everyone talked about back in 2012, and no matter his feelings about Queenpin and Octavius, he still doesn’t think their kids deserved the gruesome end they got. 

Miles goes on to say that Spider-Man argued and begged them all to stop while they were ahead before promising that it would be all for nothing and that it wouldn’t work. Enraged, Queenpin choked Spider-Man to death with her bare hands while everyone else looked on, unconcerned. And Miles was forced to watch, knowing he could have done something but being too scared to try, going weak in the knees when Spider-Man finally slumped lifelessly. He stumbled and it gave him away, drawing attention to the fact that he was there which forced him to run with the Prowler hot on his trail. 

 _That’s_ what triggered Miles's invisibility and helped him escape the clutches of the Prowler, just barely.

It gives Tony a pause. “Why come to me? Why not Gwen?” Then he realizes something. “Gwen’s been really worried about you. You didn’t return any of our messages.”

Miles scrubs his face dry again. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was just - it was a lot.” He exhales shakily and says, “I did try and go to the brownstone her family has in Queens, but she wasn’t there. Then I tried Uncle Aaron and he wasn’t there. You were all I had left.”

Tony understands. He puts a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Hey, look at me. You’ve been through a lot. I’m honored that I’m among the list of people you felt you could trust with something like this.”

Miles nods silently.

Tony pulls away and allows himself a moment to think. “We need to loop Gwen in. Do you want to call her while I take a look at that USB?” he suggests.

Miles nods and reaches in his pocket before his eyes widen while he frantically pats himself down.

It’s enough to make Peter wake up with a disgruntled sound, rolling away while Miles leaps to his feet, digging through all his pockets until he closes his eyes with a pained expression.

Tony doesn’t not like what that look is implying. “Miles … please tell me you still have it.”

“I, uh, think I lost it in all the commotion.” Miles groans and walks to the nearest wall so he can knock his forehead against it over and over. “It could literally be _anywhere_ in the city.”

Peter looks between them, confused. 

Tony stands and pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to think. “Okay.” He thinks and thinks. “Okay. Okay. Maybe we - maybe we track down Gwen first, come up with a new game plan. It’s possible with a bit of brainstorming we could, I don’t know, replicate the USB somehow.”

“Somehow like _how?_ ” Miles groans. “The only way we could honestly do that is if we got a hold of all the encrypted files in relation to the project itself, and it’s not like this is some creep hiding in some basement. This is Wilhemina Fisk and Carlton Drake we’re talking about. They host all their files on protected servers held onsite at their shared research facility upstate.”

“Wait.” Tony holds up a hand looking off to the side as his mind spins on full throttle until he hits his ‘eureka’ moment. “That wouldn't happen to be the same facility Spider-Man broke into a few weeks ago would it?”

“Well, yeah, but what does that have to do with - oh.”

“Yup.”

“Tony, how are we going to go to the source for those files if it’s a given that they’ve tightened security since that last unexpected breach?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admits because he really doesn’t. “But this is why the three of us are going to brainstorm that.” He looks at Peter, who’s been watching them this whole while with the same attention a person would give a tennis match. “Hey, kid, you stay here and you keep your phone on, okay? If Steve calls you, please let me be the one to tell him what’s going on alright?”

“Okay,” Peter mumbles quietly, looking unhappy by these turn of events. He looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t and Tony isn’t going to press in case it affects the outcome of what’s supposed to happen. 

Tony knows that Peter is pretty much proof that their plans work out and they do somehow put a stop to this threat. He’s just got to let it happen without taking any shortcuts, minimizing the risks of creating some kind of fracture in the timeline of things. 

“Gwen’s not answering her phone,” Miles says, looking a little frustrated.

“We’ll have to go to her place then,” Tony decides. “This can’t wait. We've got time since they have to start from scratch because of that explosion.”

Miles silently agrees and Tony goes to get dressed in some proper street wear.

.

.

.

They go to Queens first to stop by Gwen’s family’s brownstone. It’s a hard thing to achieve because the entire city is abuzz with Spider-Man’s recently announced death and secret identity, though they have yet to offer a photo of the man. Maybe it’s because nothing has been approved by his loved ones. Even the Daily Bugle isn’t daring to continue their smear campaign against a dead man, now learning who he was underneath.

Tony has no time to linger on the thought that the masked vigilante shares a first name with his future Omega son and the implications of that. Because while he’s always admired Peter Parker for all that he’s done behind the mask, he couldn’t say that his level of respect goes deep enough to name one of his own kids after him. 

It’s perplexing and he has to put it on the back burner because when they finally reach Queens, they are informed, tearfully by Gwen’s family that she isn’t there and hasn’t been since she left the previous day. They even encourage Miles and Tony to let any of them know right away if they hear from the younger Alpha because they are really worried. 

It’s not like Gwen to just completely disappear like that.

Miles gets a little distressed over it as they leave and catch another cab to head into the city. “She might be at Oscorp,” he insists like Tony would even think of dissuading him. “She’s done that before, you know, hung out in one of the labs on a bender and forgot to let someone know. She’s probably there.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tony isn’t really confident and he doesn’t like the way his concern hardens like stones in his gut, making him feel like something is really wrong.

The feeling doesn’t lessen when they arrive at Oscorp, only to learn that Gwen isn’t, in fact, there, and hadn’t been there since her last shift, which was days ago.

“This doesn’t make sense!” Miles freaks, completely worked up from where they are standing among the gathering crowd in Times Square after having visited Gwen’s favorite store (Hershey's Chocolate World) and not finding her there like they had hoped yet again. “What could have possibly happened to her in the time that she last messaged us until now? She had to have gone to my place. And then what? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says, shooting Peter a text to let him know not to wait up, and that he might be out for a while, seeing how it’s already growing late. He glances up at the digital billboard screen where they are playing random clips featuring the best of Spider-Man’s heroics. Then there’s a breaking news segment where the anchor announces that they have finally gotten permission to release the photo of Peter Parker. 

Tony is absolutely floored because the man they show to be Peter Parker is the same man he’d seen in his weird dream last night with Gwen. He says, “Miles, I think it’s time we try tracking Gwen’s phone.”

Miles looks both concerned and curious but he nods without asking questions.

“Call your parents and let them know you that you’ll be crashing at mine’s. We need to go back to Sarah’s.”

.

.

.

In order to create the most sophisticated triangulation apparatus, Tony has to use at least sixty-percent of the parts from, not only his own phone, but Miles and Peter’s phone as well, which they both easily agree to.

The process of building the honing device lasts well into the early morning hours of Tuesday. According to the readings bouncing back from Gwen’s phone, her last known location can be pinpointed to the district where the Life Foundation resides. The signal is radiating from somewhere deep underground.

“What are we going to do?” Miles asks quietly as they both watch the signal ping confidently from the screen of Tony’s laptop.

Tony shakes his head, thoughts racing, but nothing lines up in a way that makes even a lick of sense. “We go down the rabbit hole. See if we find Gwen there.”

Miles's mouth twists unhappily before he stands, mumbling something about needing to use the bathroom.

Tony leans forward and rests his head tiredly in his hands. He looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Peter’s holding a plate of biscuits he found in the fridge. “You want one?” he offers.

Tony declines and says, “If I ask you a question … would you answer it? Directly?”

Peter fidgets and avoids his gaze. “Yes, I would. But please don’t ask me.”

Tony scoffs wryly and sits back as he watches the younger Omega continue to fidget. “Pete, you gotta tell me something here. I’m going out my mind hoping that my first instinct is wrong.” He adds, “Please.”

Peter continues to avoid his gaze before he finally lifts his eyes to meet Tony’s. He says, “You should partner with Auntie Dora. She can give you the access you need to get down to where the signal leads. That’s all I can say.”

“It’s enough, thank you,” Tony promises, standing to his feet to race over to the guest bathroom. He knocks aggressively and says, “I know how we get down there.”

.

.

.

“Tony?” Dora peers at him with sleepy-eyed confusion, which is fair because Tony did show up in the middle of the night with Peter and Miles on her doorstep. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, you know, I would’ve called but I kind of completely reverse engineered my phone, so,” Tony says with a sheepish shrug. “Anyway, how are you? You look rested and completely open to this conversation that I would like to have with you.”

“Do I even wanna know how you … _managed_ to get past lobby security?” Dora asks, bunching the front of her silk robe tighter over her chest as she steps out of the way to gesture them in with a nod of the head.

“Ehh, probably not,” Miles admits as they all head to her kitchen, which has a stunning view of Central Park. “Hi. Miles Morales. You have a lovely home.”

“Dora Skirth, and thank you,” Dora muses as she gets to work with making instant coffee with her luxury machine. “Good to see you again, Peter.”

“Oh, wow, yeah thanks for saying that, Dr. Skirth,” Peter rambles with a light flush, seeming baffled by the acknowledgment and again Tony is confused by why his own kid has such low confidence. “It’s good to see you too.”

Dora winks tiredly at him before she pours them all a cup.

Tony has to exaggerate his sip before he turns away and spits it back into the mug. God, that’s the second time in a row he’s come into contact with some really awful coffee. He wipes his mouth using a stack of napkins resting nearby before he slides his cup of coffee onto the counter.

Dora breaks the comfortable silence by asking, “So, should I be guessing why you’re here? Or …?”

“Do you want the full story or the truncated version?”

**ONE HOUR LATER**

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you!”

Dora laughs and pours herself another cup of coffee as she shakes her head.

“Okay maybe you do know what I’m going to ask you,” Tony concedes while Miles and Peter lounge in the living room like spectators to the verbal tennis match underway. “But I promise that it won’t even take much. If you - _you_ \- could take just … a walkthrough. A quick look. A glance. Barely even a blink.”

“Oh, I see. A blink,” Dora echoes. “A blink. Yeah, a blink.” She sets down her cup and gives him a look. “Would you like to know how Drake determines clearance? The Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Wind Scale. Would you like to know what clearance I’m at? Category Two. And I’m a Department Lead with a pool of four hundred people under me. That level you just described to me? Where you got the signal? That’s a Category Five.”

“I don’t understand what that means,” Tony merely says with an agitated sigh.

“My department mainly focuses on plant breeding and genetics. Basic crop and soil science. Global environmental agronomy. Drake is … _obsessed_ with cracking the formula to it all. Life. Death. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I need you to understand that he sent a ship of _fifty people_ to space, untrained, plucked off the streets, just - just  - homeless people, do you understand? He shot them in space and only three of them came back with - with … _something._  I don’t know what. But _that_ is what is on that level you want me to just blink at and I can’t. Okay? I’m sorry.”

Tony stares at her before massaging his fingers against the corners of his mouth.

Dora continues, “Drake has basically what amounts to the power of attorney over me. I cross him, and he won’t forgive me for it. I have to think of Eddie.”

“And who thinks about the missing girl, huh?” Eddie says, appearing out of nowhere and shouldering the weight of everyone's startled and surprised gazes in nothing but his PJ’s and bunny slippers. “Her name’s Gwen, you said?” he asks Tony, who nods.

“Eddie,” Dora scolds. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

“Oh, you know me, Ma. Hot scoop like this would revive me from the dead. Call it journalistic instincts,” Eddie replies slyly before he sobers. “Don’t tell me you were really going to turn them away?”

“It’s not as if it’s easy for me to say 'no'.”

“You make it seem that way from where I’m standing.” Eddie shakes his head. “Your friends come to you for help and you say what? Sorry, my hands are tied? What’s the lesson you want me to take away from that. Flake when your friends need you the most? What if it was me?”

“Eddie!” Dora snaps, looking horrified at the mere thought. “That is very bad humor. Please try and understand. I told you what my contract to Drake means.”

“It’s okay, Dora,” Tony interjects before Eddie can go on protesting. He shoots the younger Omega a grateful smile. He turns back to Dora. “I’m sorry. I just - she means a lot. And it would kill me if I didn’t … if I didn’t at least try everything I could. She’d do the same for me.” He makes a gesture for Miles and Peter to get ready to leave. “We’ll figure something else out. Sorry about troubling you. It’s okay.”

Miles and Peter give soft spoken goodbyes as well before following Tony to the door.

Tony’s reaching for the knob when Dora calls out, “Wait!” and he does. She comes barreling down the hallway, looking disgruntled, slightly queasy but determined. She meets his eyes before glancing over to Peter. “Hey, Peter, why don’t you ask Eddie to show you his new game system. His Au Pair will be by in about thirty minutes to make french toast. She’s really good at that, so go ahead and make yourself at home.”

Peter looks between them all, slightly disgruntled he was being sent off to ‘let the adults talk’ but he doesn’t complain. He just nods and gives them privacy.

Dora waits until she’s sure they have the hall to themselves before saying, “If we do this … we do this my way. I am the only one out of all of us who knows the company best, and who knows Drake the best. That means you have to trust me.”

Tony nods and so does Miles.

“Implicitly,” Dora stresses. 

Tony and Miles nod again.

Dora stares at them both for a moment before she exhales shakily. Then she takes a moment to groom herself as she thinks before glancing at her smartwatch. She pauses and then looks at Tony. 

Tony frowns and shifts curiously under her gaze. “What?”

Dora says, “Drake has a company wide rule where no one is allowed to leave the premises with their badges. We have biometrics that clocks us in and out of the building.”

“Okay?” Tony simply says, unsure where she’s going with this.

“Do you know what happened to the guy who had my role before I was onboarded?” Dora questions rhetorically. “He was fired for forgetting that he had his badge in his pocket when he left for work. Now nothing really happened but the rumor mill says that Drake went ballistic, citing all the things that could have gone wrong if an outsider had gotten a hold of it. One mistake and a man who was only six months short of retirement lost everything in the lawsuit Drake battered him with after he was let go.”

“Damn, it’s really that deep, huh?” Miles mumbles, amazed.

Dora nods and Tony says, “Stop me if I’m wrong, but it just feels like you’re reiterating how hard it’s gonna be to get our hands on the kind of badge we need.”

“Oh, no, the opposite,” Dora quickly assures. “See, this way we can use that rule against him. Get him to leave the premises for, say, an hour or hour and a half. We use that window to buy me time to grab it from his office and figure out why you got the signal you did at the lower levels. If I see anyone, I'll take a picture and confirm it with you. I could put the badge back before he even returns and he wouldn’t be any wiser.”

“I really want to give this plan a full stamp of approval but how exactly are we going to drive Drake out of the office for nearly two hours?” Tony genuinely queries.

Dora scrunches her nose and says, “Yeah … this is the part of the plan that you aren’t going to love.” She waits a couple of seconds before she clarifies, “He did mention he put in an offer for you way back when.”

Tony frowns, confused before it hits him. “Oh no.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with a painful sigh. “Why am _I_ always the bait?”

“You just really good chum, fam,” Miles remarks, clapping his hand over Tony’s shoulder in a gesture probably meant to comfort.

Tony shoots him a dry look and says, “Gwen better appreciate the depth of my affection.” 


	27. YEAR 1: PART III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - and i try, oh how i try

“You sure he’s okay to stay here?” Tony asks, already on the other side of the threshold of Dora's apartment, straining his ears to hear Peter and Eddie lightheartedly rag on each other while they play Mario Kart in the living room. “I’d feel better if he wasn’t alone, but please don’t feel obligated to host him.”

“Tony, it’s fine,” Dora promises. “The boys will have Eddie’s Au Pair to supervise, and Eddie and Peter seem to really enjoy each other. You don’t have to worry. I swear, it’s almost like he’s your kid.”

Tony grins faintly, a soft whisper of amusement settling at the corners of his mouth because if only she knew. “Well, since that's settled, I’m going to head home, put together my phone and then make my way over to your J.O.B. at about - noon?”

“Sounds good,” Dora confirms as she smiles at Miles, who is idling in the hall behind Tony. “It was nice to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

“Yeah, yeah. Same here,” Miles rushes to assure, stepping forward to shake her hand with both of his own. “And seriously, Tones and I can’t thank you enough for helping us out here.”

Dora’s eyes go warm and gentle. They release their handhold and Dora gives a parting nod to Tony before closing her door.

“You should head home,” Tony suggests as they walk down the long hall to the elevators. “Rest up, refresh, and rebuild your phone so we can keep in touch.”

Miles fidgets with a disgruntled frown while they wait. “Don’t know how much sleep I’m going to get worrying about you and Gwen,” he admits.

Tony snorts as they step on the elevator. He pushes the button for the lobby. “Gwen, I get. But me? It’s just lunch with Drake. What’s the worst that could -”

Miles slaps his hands over his ears with a hiss. “No! No! No! Bruh don’t take it there! Don’t you jinx our janx like that! Take it back, Tony! Take it back!”

“Fine, fine!” Tony laughs, struggling to get Miles to drop his hands from his ears. “Everything is going to go according to plan.”

“Yes. Put that on everything,” Miles grumbles as they step off the elevator, exiting the building to go their separate ways. 

.

.

.

Back home, Tony spends most of his time in his and Peter’s nest in the dining room, putting his phone back together (with the help of Little Ben). He’d already given Miles and Peter their parts before they had left the house earlier, advising them both to do the same so they can all be in touch with one another. He’s really not surprised when his phone explodes with all sorts of missed calls, texts, and notifications. Mostly from Steve and Sarah.

Tony texts Sarah to say that he’s fine, then texts Dora and Miles (and Peter) to say that his phone is up and running while he calls Steve (on speakerphone). When his Alpha answers, barely letting the line ring more than twice, there’s a commotion of music (flutes, bagpipes, and what sounds to be clogs slapping against a dancefloor) in the background with cheering and fireworks. He guesses that the Passing Ceremony must be in full swing and he feels bad about interrupting that.

 _“Hello? Hello? Tony?”_ Steve sounds frantically concerned. He curses under his breath and asks Tony to hold on because it’s hard to hear him due to all the surrounding ruckus. It takes about five minutes or so, and then Steve’s voice echoes like he’s taken shelter in a shed or something. _“Tony? You there?”_

“I’m here,” Tony assures softly. “Hey, listen, Steve - I’m really sorry I’ve been offline. Things have been really crazy over here.”

 _“Yeah, I pretty much guessed so when I saw the news,”_ Steve remarks. _“I’m more concerned about how you’re holding up then the radio silence. Are you okay? Is Peter okay?”_

“We’re both as fine as we can be,” Tony promises. “How are you?”

 _“We can get to me in a moment, tell me more about what’s happening on your side.”_ Steve quickly adds, _“Please. Convince me why I shouldn’t take the next flight home.”_

Tony smiles mostly to himself and rolls his eyes at how protective his Alpha is. He falls back against a mound of pillows with a soft ‘oof’ and then starts from the beginning. He tells Steve everything, starting from when they parted ways at the airport, his time with Peter at the diner where they first met (as well as the weird power surge he’d written off at the time), the nest Peter and him built together, the dream he’d had about Gwen and (a now deceased) Peter Parker, who'd been unmasked as Spider-Man, as well as Miles’s unexpected visit which led them on a search for (a currently missing) Gwen.

Steve gets pointedly silent when Tony tells him about Dora’s plan and the part that he plays in it.

“Are you mad? You seem mad,” Tony says, fidgeting on his back as he stares up at the ceiling with Little Ben chirping quietly from where he’s resting on Tony’s stomach like he’s singing to Tony's abs or something. Strange. “You’re doing that weird oppressive silence thing you do when you’re mad.”

Steve huffs tiredly and sighs. _“I’m not … mad.”_

Tony rolls his eyes, glad that the older man can’t see it. “Well that was certainly convincing,” he mutters, idly stroking his fingers over Little Ben.

 _“No, I -”_ Steve cuts himself off. Then he starts again, _“I’m not mad. I’m worried. Concerned. But I’m not surprised because, well, it’s you. You have the same kind of sense of moral obligation that I get. Plus I really can’t - I don’t have any place to talk you out of helping a friend who seems like they really need it. I have something to tell you too.”_

Tony listens as Steve outlines his visit overseas so far and up until now, where he is currently engaging in day three of the Passing Ceremony, where the Rogers Clan is reenacting all of Uncle Morgan’s favorite music, dances, food and the like. Apparently, everyone except for Cousin Hamish, his wife, Abbie, and their daughter, Merida, is giving Sarah and Steve the cold shoulder.

Tony is beyond pissed to hear that and seriously considers having Little Ben go on a fact-finding mission about each member of the Rogers Clan as a whole for some nonlethal revenge.

 _“Tony, no,”_ Steve chastises, trying to sound stern and failing. The smile in his voice is too audible. 

“No what?” Tony replies innocently as he finger-walks his left hand over his stomach. “I haven’t said anything.”

_“Actually, you’re doing that thing you do when you’re really pissed and you become like a faucet, not realizing you’re vocalizing your thoughts, so do not have Little Ben dig up dirt about my family so you can use it against them. I got this, don’t worry.”_

“Sure. God bless and all that,” Tony says noncommittally and the corner of his mouth twitches when Steve gives a long-suffering sigh and he gives Little Ben a signal to grab his laptop. “Tell me more about this Bucky thing. I cannot believe you tried to punch your way out of that situation, but this is you, so … anyway, what’s the deal with that?”

Steve goes on to explain about Bucky’s undercover conundrum and them discovering a possible way to get the Beta home, which also happens to coincide with Steve’s shocking revelations about his Da’s side of the family. And when Tony offers to also do a little digging about that bloodline, Steve actually concedes to it, just that anxious to get Bucky back home and out of the jaws of Hydra.

 _“So,”_ Steve says after they fall into a comfortable silence, both of them thinking over each other’s dilemmas. _“This lunch with Drake.”_

Tony takes the phone off of mute after he gives Little Ben specific instructions to look into both the Nomads and the Rogers families. He says, “Yeah? I knew you’d have something to say. Go on. Let’s hear it. Get all your grievances out.”

Instead of complaining, Steve replies, _“No grievances to share. I actually wanted to suggest something. Tell him you're lonely.”_

Tony blinks and straightens at that bit of advice. “I - what?”

 _“I’ve made peace with the fact that I can’t talk you out of doing this, and it’d be rude of me to even try. I don’t control you, Tony. I don’t want to. But I’d rather have you play it safe and get what you need,”_ Steve explains, nothing but sincere. _“So, you wanna go on and string that sleazeball along, keep him good and distracted? Then fine. Thought I’d give you a few pointers, being an Alpha myself. Tell him you’re lonely.”_

Tony fidgets on the mound of pillows he’s seated on as he folds his legs under him. He gets that same kind of thrill that overcomes him when Steve’s voice takes on a more of a compelling tactical tone. He hesitates and then asks, “Why?” 

_“It’s … kind of a popular fetish among Alphas. Taking care of someone else’s neglected Omega.”_

Tony snorts. “Is that so? Is that maybe something you’re into?” he teases.

 _“I’m just into you,”_ Steve merely says, tone taking on a certain edge that makes Tony’s face heat up.

“Got any more advice for me?” Tony asks, unsure of what he’s trying to do here by extending the subject but he really misses Steve, and this long-distance phone conversation doesn’t nearly feel like enough to sustain him in his husband's absence. “You probably know what I look best in. What should I wear?”

Steve’s immediately ready with a response, saying,  _“If you want to make an impression, you need to wear those black jeans you have that look more ash grey. You know the ones I mean? They hug your thighs a little too tight.”_

Tony knows exactly which pair he’s referring to. “What is it with you and my thighs?” he laughs because he’s noticed the looks Steve gives him sometimes, with or without clothes on.

 _“I like the shape of them, like seeing ‘em,”_ Steve admits, transparently amused. He's shifting thoughtfully on the other side of the line. _“Like being between them even more.”_

Tony’s face burns. “Shirts?” he blurts, yanking the front of the shirt he’s currently wearing to try and cool off. “What, uh, top should I wear?”

 _“Good question,”_ Steve says, playing along. _“You know, I have this red cashmere sweater that Ma made me for Christmas last year, but it’s thin enough to wear in warm weather. You look good in red, not sure what it is but he won’t be able to take his eyes off of you in all that softness.”_

“Steve - I, um.” God, his voice is trembling. It would be funny if he wasn’t starting to get a little turned on at the thought of wearing an outfit his own Alpha picked out for him in order to seduce another. “You - you’re really okay with me doing this?” 

Steve merely hums thoughtfully, slow. When he speaks next, his voice is low and all timbre. _“'Really okay' isn't the phrase I'd use, but sure. Besides, what do I got to be worried about? Not like you’d ever get as wet for him as you do for me, sweetheart. Or share all those pretty little noises you make while you’re begging when I get you on my cock.”_

And just like that, it’s like a switch has been flipped. His body becomes like a livewire, an exposed nerve, sensitive and responsive - every cell inside of him screaming _‘top me, please, dear god, just top me_ ’. 

Tony was getting wet whether he wanted to or not, all because of the unmistakable - _possessive_ \- confidence packed behind Steve’s dicey words. But, well, Steve’s earned the right to brag and boast because there’s no one else on the planet that can turn Tony inside out the way his husband can, no one he wants or will always want more than anything other than Steve.

“Rogers,” Tony breathes, aiming for an admonishing tone but failing by a long shot. His head suddenly feels fuzzy and cloudy with honest want, thighs pressed tightly together as if that would stop the slow drip running down between them.  

_“Yeah, honey? What’s wrong?”_

Tony nearly groans in frustration as he pinches his thigh to offset the arousal he feels growing. When he’s calm enough, he huffs in quiet exasperation. “Don’t tease me like this,” he begs. “Not when you’re so far away and can’t - can’t take care of me.” 

Steve chuckles darkly and it makes goosebumps spread all over Tony’s skin. He says, _“You’re right, I’m being awful. But I’m sure you can take care of yourself. Ain’t that what you always say anyway when I fuss?”_

Tony laughs breathlessly. “You’re such a bastard. You know I don’t - I don’t do - do _that.”_

Steve gives a noticeable pause. _“Hang on. What do you mean you don’t? You don’t touch yourself? Like - ever?”_

“I mean …” Tony fidgets, feeling shy and mortified by the redirection of their conversational thread. “When I - in the past, during my Time, sure. But I was so hopped up on my own hormones and pheromones, with little else to focus on like I could when I had you. I would barely remember what I’d done to myself by the time it was all over and had passed. And, well, my parents would sometimes send me to Omega Rehabs where they’d just monitor things on a clinical side to be sure I wasn’t like, you know, hurting myself.” 

 _“But outside of that, you’ve never, you know?”_ Steve shifts on the other end and Tony could swear he was making the ‘handjob’ gesture.

Tony’s face prickles with heat at the thought. “Should I assume you’re doing what I think you’re doing with your hand?” he asks.

Steve laughs. _“Actually, yeah. You don’t do that?”_

“Do _you?_ ” Tony shoots back, suddenly annoyed. He knows Steve isn’t making fun of him but this is not the easiest thing to admit to. 

 _“Obviously not lately but. Yeah, I do,”_ Steve admits like it’s no big deal and god, Tony tries not to even visualize it but the thoughts start creeping in. _“Awfully quiet there, Tony. Are you - you’re picturing me doing it, aren’t you?”_

Tony hangs up and then rolls his eyes when Steve tries to call him right back. He answers on the fourth ring. “I wasn’t,” he lies. 

 _“No?”_ Steve’s got that tone about him where he’s probably wearing that shit-eating grin of his. _“Why’d you hang up so fast then?”_

“My hand slipped.”

 _“Did it?”_ Steve sounds way too amused. _“Yeah, my hand slips too. Especially when I think about your pretty eyes.”_

“Oh my _god._ You are such a clown,” Tony laughs, flattered and exasperated. “Can we change the subject now?”

 _“You’ve really piqued my interest with this,”_ Steve snickers. _“Sweetheart, don’t tell me you’re gonna wait until I get home to take care of you. No pressure, of course, but it’s - it’s a good stress reliever. And you shouldn’t find it shameful. I don’t.”_

Tony is ashamed though. He doesn’t know how to even - where to even _start_ with something like that. During his Time, he’d let instinct take over. He’s never tried it while he was still lucid enough to be aware of his own actions. Not to mention that back in his boarding school days, self-pleasure was the number one ‘no-no’, greatly frowned upon and punishable if caught. 

 _“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,”_ Steve says in response to his silence, sensing that he may have overstepped. _“We can table that for later. But I'd be willing to bet just about anything that you’d look so gorgeous getting strapped.”_

Tony makes an exasperated gurgle sound at how much of rake his husband is. The heat simmering lowly in his gut takes a few minutes to ride out because he can - he can _picture that_  and it’s not like … unappealing at all.

Steve patiently waits it out with him as though he knows. Jerk.

Tony sighs when he’s finally calmed down as he rubs tiredly at his eyes. He mumbles, “Even when you’re being a complete pain, I still miss you.”

 _“Yeah?”_ The soft smile in Steve’s voice is audible. _“No you don’t.”_

Tony laughs. “What? What do you mean 'no'? I do!”

_“Nope, I’m not convinced. You’re happy to have the bed all to yourself.”_

“I mean I never said I didn’t. It’s nice to wake up without someone sprawled all over you like a human blanket,” Tony teases.

Steve snorts grudgingly. _“See, I knew it. You don’t miss me at all.”_

“No, but I do,” Tony swears.

_“Oh yeah? What do you miss about me?”_

“You fucking fisherman,” Tony accuses as they laugh together. “We were always gonna end up here, huh? I can’t believe I fell for it.”

 _“Fell for what?”_ Steve is still snickering. _“Come on, tell me what you miss about me.”_

Tony shakes his head with an exasperated smile, rolling his eyes. He clears his throat but he can’t stop smiling. “I guess I miss that thing you do where you pretend to eat my fingers or my knuckles. Or how you tickle me when I least expect it.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, but there's no mistaking how pleased he is to hear that. _“Even though you threaten me and call me mean names after?”_

“Yes,” Tony sighs with another eye roll. “But let’s not pretend you don’t like it when I’m mean. We both know you love when I’m a brat.”

_“Yeah, normally, but right now I want you to be very nice to me. So keep telling me what else you miss.”_

Tony pulls the phone away and mimes strangling it, huffing, and pressing it to his ear again. “Okay, I do miss the way that you watch videos about kittens and puppies to cheer yourself up or just for fun. I also maybe miss your sense of humor.”

_“Every dirty bit of it?”_

Tony snorts and snickers. “Yes, every dirty bit of it.” Then he says, “Okay, Rogers. Your turn. What do you miss about me?”

 _“Oh let me count the ways, baby doll,”_ Steve drawls, Brooklyn accent thick as ever.

Tony smiles at the exaggeration.

Steve quickly says, _“That! That right there!”_

Still smiling, Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Sorry? What right where?”

_“That smile.”_

Tony pauses, eyes widening slightly. “Smiling? Who’s smiling? I’m not smiling. I can feel my mouth and it’s flat as a tortilla right now.”

 _“Yeah you are,”_ Steve easily refutes.  _“I can hear it."_

"You can't  _hear_ a smile, weirdo."

_"Yes I can, unbeliever. I can hear you wearing my favorite smile. And I gotta say, that smile is magic. Holds all the best and brightest secrets of the universe.”_

Tony tries to fight down a growing smile that starts eating away at his face at Steve’s words.

 _“It just … it starts my day, that smile.”_ Steve huffs fondly, as though he’s picturing it. _“You know what I think about whenever we’re lying in bed and you get up to go to the bathroom? I think, ‘Okay, five more minutes before he comes back out and I get to see that smile again’.”_

“You’re so - so ridiculous,” Tony complains, throat clogged with emotion. “And I love you all the more because of it.”

_“I love you too. Maybe even more than Wesley loves Princess Buttercup.”_

Tony snorts. “Wow, that’s a bold claim, lamb.”

 _“Eh. Anybody who don’t like it can fight me about it,”_ Steve sniffs, exaggerating his Brooklyn accent again.

Tony grins.

A comfortable silence falls over them where neither of them says anything, just savoring each other’s presence.

Then Tony says, “It feels weird not being able to see you or feel you in my head.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Steve agrees. _“Kinda empty. Though, I can still feel your side like a small dot in the back of my head. I’m realizing the bond depends on distance to properly communicate. Closer together, the more vivid, but further away, less so.”_

Tony’s come to that same conclusion as well and says as much. He shuffles down to lie on his side as he watches Little Ben working from where he’s webbed up in one corner with his laptop. “You’ve probably gotta get back now,” he mumbles, as his eyes flutter shut - his body feels completely relaxed, drowsy. 

 _“They’ll be fine without me for another ten minutes,”_ Steve merely says. " _You sound like you're dropping and I don't want to leave you until I'm sure you're eased into it safely."_

“Yeah. Yeah, okay." Tony yawns. "M’gonna take a nap, I think. Coffee has been really betraying me lately by tasting god awful no matter the source.”

_“Yeah, you sound tired. The coffee thing might just be nerves. I had the same sort of issue during finals back during my college days.”_

Tony just hums and drifts off to the sound of Steve breathing on the other end of the line, feeling more content then he’s ever in the hours they’ve been separated.

.

.

.

_You have shared a thread of pictures with Steve Rogers in chat ‘BANE OF MY EXISTENCE’_

**youknowwhoiam:** hey babe here’s the final outcome of the outfit you suggested i catfish in **  
** **youknowwhoiam:** thoughts?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** christ   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** look at you   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** so pretty like i knew you would be

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah?   
**youknowwhoiam:** you think this’ll help me finesse drake ;)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** oh absolutely   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** he doesn’t stand a chance when you look as sweet as candy

 **youknowwhoiam:** :)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** feel like this goes without saying   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** but   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** if he tries anything cute i’ll break his fingers

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol not if i do first

_brooklynfisticuffs loved youknowwhoiam’s ‘lol not if i do first’ message_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** that’s right honey   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** all of that is for me

 **youknowwhoiam:** forever and always 

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** ditto kiddo :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** :)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** now   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** send me some pictures without the outfit

 **youknowwhoiam:**  yeah right nice try

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** lol what   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m serious

 **youknowwhoiam:** so am i   
**youknowwhoiam:** there’s no way lol

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hm   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** just you wait tho   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i’ll get you there

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah that’s what you think

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** that’s what i know   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** besides   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i need a little motivation in case my hand slips again

 **youknowwhoiam:** omg steve shut up goodbye blocked

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** :(

.

.

.

Tony has to admit, with the way he’s turning heads as he strolls through the lobby of the Life Foundation, catching eyes every which way, Steve was definitely on to something. 

He walks over to the security desk, just as planned, citing that he’s there to see Dr. Skirth and that he’s expected. He’s given a visitor's badge, internally rolling his eyes when he has to endure badly worded come-ons the whole time. He just gives them a cutting smile before wandering over to a nearby directory to pinpoint Drake’s office.

When he reaches the top floor, where all the Department Leads have their offices, he purposefully walks up and down the floor within clear view of Drake’s glass window box of an office until he feels the heavy press of the smarmy Alpha’s gaze. He calculates down to the exact second before Drake rises from his desk, dismissing the small staff of people that had been giving him a rundown of how well the company was doing in each department to step within Tony’s path the next time Tony makes his fifth lap of walking by.

“Mr. Drake,” Tony says cooly, barely having to fake his polite disinterest.

“Mr. Stark,” Drake greets back, smirk widening as mirth dances in his dark gaze at the stern look Tony gives him for that. “Sorry. It's Rogers, isn't it? What kind of excellent karma is this to have you grace these premises with your presence.”

“Not karma, just a planned lunch date with Dr. Skirth,” Tony recites, just as planned. “Who, I will admit, I’m having a hard time finding at the moment.”

Drake offers an arm, all too eager to jump at a chance to prolong this interaction. “Please. Allow me. I know more than anyone what a maze this place can be if you’re unfamiliar.”

Tony flicks his gaze over Drake’s shoulder to the gathering crowd glancing at their boss with barely concealed frustration. “I wouldn’t want to pry you away from anything important,” he says but curls his fingers over the offered arm. He tries not to let his face twist into something less than welcoming when Drake releases a few pheromones. 

“Oh I don’t waste my time lightly,” Drake muses, straightening his shoulders with Alpha pride as he struts forward with a rather callous and dismissive wave at his lingering staff. “Whatever you all have to say, forward it to me in an email.”

Tony can tell, by their thunderous expressions, that they had worked really hard on their live presentations. But it’s not surprising that Drake is not the world’s greatest boss. Nevertheless, he doesn’t address it.

“Have you been given the full tour?” Drake asks as they walk down a long hall past many offices that are at least half the size of Drake’s but still fairly spacious and crisply designed. 

Tony shakes his head in the negative.

"I'll have to arrange something for you if Dora hasn't already."

They reach a room at the end of the hall where Dora’s office resides and Tony pretends to find it distressing when the other Omega is nowhere in sight.

“Perhaps it slipped her mind,” Drake supposes, watching Tony like a hawk as he moves about the office as if to look for clues that would explain Dora's current whereabouts or lack thereof in this case.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tony murmurs, moving towards the closed door of the en suite bathroom. He knocks and Dora gives an exaggerated groan. “Dora, is that you?” he asks, knowing full well it is but they have to ham it up for Drake’s sake. “You okay in there?”

Dora gives another obnoxious groan, followed by a gurgling wet sound that reverberates unmistakably like a bad case of diarrhea.

Tony is glad he’s facing away from Drake so he can close his eyes and fight back the laugh that wants to bubble through. He knows that Dora is using the sound effects app that Miles suggested when they were outlining the plan together.

 _“Tony? Tony, is that you?”_ Dora calls out with another groan and another splashing sound. _“Oh, I - I meant to call you. I meant -”_ More watery farting noises. _“I meant to cancel but, dear god, my insides are leaking out of my asshole right now.”_

Drake coughs and when Tony glances at him from over his shoulder, the older Alpha is doing his best to conceal his disgust with the situation. He says, “Why don’t I give you two a moment? I’ll be out here.”

Tony snorts at the way Drake flees before he knocks twice and lets himself into the bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him.

Dora is looking at him with a wry smirk from where she’s sitting on the sink counter, swinging her legs back and forth while she eats a chocolate candy bar, her smartphone face-up by her waist where it’s still sputtering gross farting noises. 

Tony laughs and gives her a quick hug after she compliments his choice in outfit. “Thanks. Steve helped me put it together.”

“He certainly knows how to play to your strengths,” Dora remarks. “So, what do you think? We good to go?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, looking himself over in the mirror before he steels himself for this next part. “Wish me luck.”

“Only if you do the same for me,” Dora quips and offers him a bite of her chocolate candy bar, which he takes, chewing quickly with a wink while he walks backwards towards the door. Dora gives him a final thumbs-up as she turns up the volume on her phone with more anguished groans.

Tony snickers quietly and closes the door behind him as he fixes his face into something more distraught and upset. He exits Dora’s office where Drake is still lingering in the hall, talking in low, murmured tones with his assistant.

“All good?” Drake asks, eyeing him from head to toe as he waves his PA off as if she were some annoying gnat. 

“Unfortunately not,” Tony replies, crossing his arms. “I’d been really looking forward to this. I’m starving but Dora’s dealing with the aftermath of some bad egg salad or something, and it looks like that might keep her busy for a while.”

Drake hums thoughtfully at that, considering. Then he glances down at the expensive wrist weight that could technically be considered a watch if not for all the diamonds. 

Tony internally rolls his eyes because the Alpha is obviously trying to show off.

Drake says, “Well, this might be fate. I’m due a lunch. Perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Tony pretends to mull that over, dipping his gaze to seem subservient and then flicking it back up to morph it into something subtle and flirty. He says, “Oh I couldn’t ask you to make time for me on such short notice, Mr. Drake. Being such a busy and important man, it feels almost rude to deprive your employees of your presence for my own selfish whims.”

“Nonsense,” Drake dismisses with that smarmy smirk of his as he releases a few pheromones, the presumptuous asshole. “It would be my pleasure.”

Tony lets out a guilty put-upon sigh before making a show of reluctantly nodding while he thinks: _hook, line, and sinker._

.

.

.

“Dora was going to take my mind off of things, off of how lonely I feel,” Tony later explains while they sit in the fanciest (most expensive) restaurant in all of lower Manhatten at the best table which is in full view of the room (Drake likes to show off, unsurprising). After ordering the most expensive bottle they have on hand, Tony makes it a point to really play up the ‘neglected Omega’ by lying about the rockiness of his marriage with Steve. “Things were … different at the beginning. Steve was - he wasn’t like anything I was used to. He was new. He was more … there. More attentive.” He sighs whimsically as he traces his fingers over the rim of his wine glass. “More affectionate.”

Drake makes a thoughtful sound between bites of his juicy porterhouse steak, pretending to lend a concerned ear to all of Tony’s plights. But he’s not fooling Tony because underneath the guise of benevolence is a shark that thinks it can smell fresh blood in the water.

“I’m sorry,” Tony laughs with a light flush, pretending to look embarrassed. “I really shouldn’t be burdening you with all this. We hardly know each other.”

“It’s fine,” Drake insists, wiping the corners of his mouth before pouring them both another glass of wine. “You need a friendly ear and I’ve got two. Such a shame, I think, to watch you be imprisoned by such loneliness. Listening is the least I could do.”

Tony smiles and shakes his head before glancing away. “God, what you must think of me -”

“The world,” Drake quickly interjects, passionate. “I’ve always thought the world of you, Mr. Rogers. Even when you didn’t know of my existence, even when your father, Howard, dismissed my offer for you like a peddler trying to latch on to fresh coin. I’ll always think the world of you.”

Tony feels a little sick by the sincerity he can hear in Drake’s voice. “Oh, Mr. Drake,” he breathes. He reaches for his glass, drinking the contents all the way down until there’s nothing left. He sighs and sets his glass back down firmly. “I can’t even imagine what I’ve done to earn that.”

Drake smirks and ducks his gaze as he wipes his mouth clean. “It’s a funny story actually,” he says. “I have this … habit of cherry-picking from the pool of recent Ivy League graduates and sifting through their dissertations to see which bright mind would be better suited among my own ranks rather than wasted elsewhere.” He brings his gaze up and meets Tony’s. “The year you graduated from MIT, I read your dissertation about the future of clean energy in conjunction with the growing Climate Crisis and I was …” He moves his hand in a circular motion near his chest as he tries to think of the right words. “There’s not even a word for it. But you perfectly pinpointed what I always felt. Which is that giant leaps will always come at a cost.” 

 _Yes, that’s true. But the cost doesn’t always have to be murder,_ Tony thinks venomously, hating Drake with every fiber of his being. _How can you act like you didn’t watch your good pal Queenpin murder Spider-Man with her bare hands while you did nothing? How can you sit here and stuff your face and feel no amount of guilt?_

Drake is oblivious to Tony’s inner turmoil. He drops his hand to the table and leans forward. “You know, sometimes you read an academic paper and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal; a thesis so special and rare and way ahead of its time. Like glimpsing into the future of what could be while everyone stands around and chooses not to act on it, only for it to be alluded to decades later, cited for the groundwork it helps lay claim to. Before your paper, I’d never felt anything like that. And I’ve spent all this time trying to recapture that feeling, but nothing has _quite_ come as close as reading your dissertation did.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say to that. He’d be flattered if had been anyone else. But it’s not. Instead, it makes him feel like Drake’s seen something that Tony hadn’t intended to share. “Well, thank you for saying that,” he says. 

“No. Thank you.” Drake shakes his head, eyes still gleaming. “If you look around at the world, what do you see? A planet on the brink of collapse. Human beings are disposable, and so treat the planet that hosts them as such. It’s people like you and I that are going to change that, and pave the way. I owe a lot of what I’ve accomplished because of you.”

That nauseous feeling returns to him, and Tony wants to both know what he means by that and yet beg to never learn. “I didn’t do it for acclaim or anything like that,” he clarifies because he hadn’t. Clean energy is a subject he’s always been passionate about.

“So humble,” Drake teases, lifting his glass to toast Tony. “Mind like yours needs to be appreciated. Valued.”

Tony just returns the gesture with a hollow grin while he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He thinks, _God, get bent. Just get all the way bet. T_ _he fucking image that you created of me in your mind is not my responsibility._

Drake continues to watch him over the rim of his glass before hums as his sleek smartphone buzzes against the table. “Excuse me,” he says before answering. “Drake here.”

Tony shifts nervously as he watches the Alpha’s face fold into cold detachment, eyes blazing with fury as he quickly snaps his fingers above his head impatiently for the bill. 

“How bad is it?” Drake questions calmly as he signs the receipt after the waiter rushes over with it. He pauses, then sharply snaps, “ ** _How bad?_** ”

Tony jumps a little, as does the waiter scuttling away and a few other patrons within hearing distance. 

Drake ends the call without saying anything further, taking a moment to gather himself before he plasters on an eerie smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It seems I’ll have to cut our time together short. Something work-related has come up.”

“Of course, I won’t hold you,” Tony quickly assures, anxious to call Dora and see how things are going on her side. 

Drake stands and walks to his side of the table just as Tony is standing. He grabs Tony’s hand and presses a warm kiss over his knuckles. “You are certain to be the best part of my day today,” he murmurs before slipping his card into that very hand. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me for whatever you may need. We must stick together, you and I. The future may depend on it.”

Tony smiles thinly with a nod before watching as Drake exits with his security detail. He doesn’t let himself relax until he’s hailing the next cab to Dora’s.

.

.

.

_You have added Dora Skirth and Miles Morales to the group chat ‘Saving Private Gwen’_

**youknowwhoiam:** drake just left in a tizzy   
**youknowwhoiam:** dora what happened?   
**youknowwhoiam:** you never sent the pics unless you sent them to miles?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** nah nah nah i didn’t get anything

 **downtoskirth:** there was literally no time   
**downtoskirth:** security on that level is psycho   
**downtoskirth:** but i found our girl, taking her to Midtown Hospital to be safe

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ???   
**sunflowersandstickers:** omg is gwen ok???

 **downtoskirth:** come to the hospital and i’ll explain

 **youknowwhoiam:** copy   
**youknowwhoiam:** otw

 **sunflowersandstickers:** same

.

.

.

 **Midtown General Hospital** is almost like something out of Star Trek. Everything that could shine, did shine. There were stainless steel, sleek floors and the art on the walls were all-natural images in colors as bright as glacier melt-water or spring flowers. The air had a pure fragrance, not sterile, just clean. 

In the background played music at just the right level to give the patients and staff an emotional lift. But the best feature of the building was the ceiling, just clear and high arched. 

The nursing station is alive and busy with bodies walking to and fro with either medical records or patients in wheelchairs being toted around like human parcels.

Tony hates hospitals, no matter how nice and soft they are. He prefers small, private facilities. Bigger places like this just leave a sour taste in his mouth, just reminds him of the time that Howard yelled at doctor after doctor when each confirmed what the previous said about Tony’s secondary gender before the Alpha forced all of the staff to sign an aggressive NDA.

He’s in the waiting area with Miles, with the rest of Gwen’s family, everyone pacing anxiously and trying to console each other. Tony stays out of the swell of it. He becomes a wallflower, watching Miles interact with Gwen’s teary-eyed parents and little brothers. 

Dora finally appears with another doctor. She nods and gestures for Miles and Tony to follow her out as the doctor begins giving Gwen’s family a lengthy rundown of her condition.

Miles is quick to say his goodbyes before following Tony and Dora out the sliding door exits and to the nearby parking garage where Dora’s car is.

Dora waits until they all settle in before she curls shaky hands over the steering wheel. She doesn’t start the car. She just stares straight ahead through the windshield. She swallows dryly, drawing a shaky breath as she says, “I can’t even … begin to tell you what I saw down there. I just -” She takes a moment to exhale shakily. “There’s this lab and these rooms. They have people confined to these rooms with different temperature settings. Gwen was in one where the temperature was set to _below_ zero. She was - she had been experimented on, I think. I don’t know in what way or capacity, but I got her out before I thought of anything else and she begged me not to take her to the hospital even though she clearly needed medical attention. I mean she was in this freezing room, drenched in sweat, purple bags under her eyes, looking severely malnourished and I didn’t have a choice. She fought me the whole way to the hospital and I barely got us both out without being caught.”

“Hey, hey, just breathe for a moment,” Tony quickly interjects, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder as she starts to hyperventilate. She looks super spooked. “You did the right thing, Dora. We are so grateful you got her out.”

Dora continues to shake as she white-knuckles the steering wheel. “Honest to Babs, it was like - like a horror movie down there. And I - I’m sick to even think about what could have happened if I had just ignored your cry for help. There were - some of those people were dead - _are_ probably dying and I could only get her out and I -”

Tony reels her into a tight hug, rubbing a hand up and down her back as she shakes in his arms with great heaving sobs of guilt. “It’s not all on you, okay? It’s not,” he insists. “It’s Drake. Whatever he’s doing … whatever he’s _done_ … that’s not on you.”

“How can I just go back there and pretend I didn’t see what I did?” Dora sobs into his shoulder. “Those people. Those poor people.”

Tony continues to shush and soothe her.

Miles, who has been concerningly silent up until this point, says, “Ay, I think - I think since you got Gwen out, she could like, I don’t know, testify? She could talk to the police about what she saw and that’s gonna help the others. Yeah. We just gotta get Gwen to make a statement.”

Dora sniffs and pulls away from Tony to dry her eyes.

“I don’t believe she ever signed anything or willingly submitted herself for experimentation,” Tony adds as he thinks it over, darting his gaze from Dora to Miles. “I mean, we don’t really know what happened or why or how Gwen ended up there, but I have a feeling it wasn’t willingly.”

“I have to say,” Dora starts. “Your friend, she was - really out of it. Like … the staff had to sedate her when she got here because she was fighting them. It could be the shock or I don’t know. But she’s really not in any state to be talking to anyone at this time.”

Miles’s expression goes grave. “I’m staying then,” he decides.

Dora shakes her head. “Look, I know she’s your friend, but right now, she’s under a 72-hour psychiatric hold. She nearly broke a nurse’s arm while they were trying to put an I.V. in. They want to run some tests and evaluations. Rule out all possibilities and make sure she’s getting the exact treatment she needs. They aren’t going to let you see her or speak to her until this hold is up.”

“Look, I appreciate everything you did, and what you’re saying, but I’m staying,” Miles repeats firmly. “I gotta look out for Gwen’s family. I know they not gonna leave either, so. I wanna be here too. We grew up together. She’s like my sister. I want to be here.”

Dora smiles sadly. “Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest - I wasn’t trying to offend you. I understand, I do. I was only trying to set some expectations.”

“It’s no biggie,” Miles promises. He looks at Tony. “I’ll text you. Keep you updated on her condition.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, grateful. He would stay if he weren’t already looking after Peter, and he can’t impose on Dora any longer than he already has. She looks rattled as is. “Give her family my best.”

Miles nods as they do an elaborate handshake before he exits the car, heading back towards the hospital E.R. wing.

Tony looks to Dora. “You okay to drive?”

Dora nods and starts heading to the luxury apartment building holding her condo.

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ay tony   
**sunflowersandstickers:** did you see they released a statement about spider-man and a public funeral that the daily bugle is paying for   
**sunflowersandstickers:** you wanna go with me   
**sunflowersandstickers:** it’s this friday

 **youknowwhoiam:** definitely interested   
**youknowwhoiam:** also nbd but it falls on the same date as the stark expo   
**youknowwhoiam:** this will definitely eclipse it by a long shot

 **sunflowersandstickers:** petty

 **youknowwhoiam:** petty? who’s petty?   
**youknowwhoiam:** deepest … condolences … to stark family … profit margins … rip much sympathy

_sunflowersandstickers laughed at youknowwhoiam’s ‘deepest … condolences … to stark family … profit margins … rip much sympathy’ message_

**sunflowersandstickers:** you really cutting up but on god AND nyc i’m living for it   
**sunflowersandstickers:** they don’t want the smoke or the heat

 **youknowwhoiam:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **sunflowersandstickers:** we should buy a spider-man costume and wear it   
**sunflowersandstickers:** everyone’s gonna do it   
**sunflowersandstickers:** there’s a whole thing about it on twitter

 **youknowwhoiam:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **sunflowersandstickers:** oh you’ll wear a mask at least   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i’ll make sure of it   
**sunflowersandstickers:** also i may have invited deadpool to tag with us

 **youknowwhoiam:** wow suddenly im sick idk cant go anymore

_sunflowersandstickers disliked youknowwhoiam’s ‘wow suddenly im sick idk cant go anymore’ message._

**sunflowersandstickers:** yeah aight faker   
**sunflowersandstickers:** don’t be like that

 **youknowwhoiam:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   
**youknowwhoiam:** also feel free to say no but   
**youknowwhoiam:** i think we should try carving out some time to test the bulk of your newfound abilities

 **sunflowersandstickers:** yeah i actually been thinking about that too   
**sunflowersandstickers:** like what it might mean now that spider-man’s gone :(

 **youknowwhoiam:** with great power …

 **sunflowersandstickers:** ooooh nah nah nah miss me with that   
**sunflowersandstickers:** watch me try and take his place and everyone like   
**sunflowersandstickers:  
  
**

 **youknowwhoiam:** lmao miles please

 **sunflowersandstickers:** lol but foreal tho   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i kinda wanna go back to the station and grab that spider

 **youknowwhoiam:** you think it’ll still be there?   
**youknowwhoiam:** i can look into it tomorrow since your busy keeping vigil at the hospital with gwen’s family atm

 **sunflowersandstickers:** could you? that’d be too schway   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i’ll send you the whole coordinates shebang

 **youknowwhoiam:** please do   
**youknowwhoiam:** how are things at the hospital?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** it’s just like dr. skirth said   
**sunflowersandstickers:** they aint letting nobody see her   
**sunflowersandstickers:** making a ‘i lived bitch’ playlist for gwen to keep busy

 **youknowwhoiam:** im sure she’ll love it   
**youknowwhoiam:** i’ll even forward my own suggestions

 **sunflowersandstickers:** bet :)

.

.

.

Peter is hopped up on so much sugar that he can barely sit still in the cab on the way back home. 

They had left Dora in the care of an extremely concerned Eddie, who admits, as he walked Tony and Peter to the elevator at the end of the hall, that he’d never seen his Ma that shaken. And hearing something like that had made a slight pang of guilt run through Tony; a sensation that had lasted well until he hailed a cab and climbed inside.

It still lingers, even now as Tony debates whether or not to lecture Peter about all the junk food he confessed to sneaking with Eddie while Eddie’s Au Pair argued distractedly over the phone with her boyfriend.

Tony makes a mental note to mention to Dora that her Au Pair might be in the habit of indulging in personal drama while on the clock. It nearly infuriates him to learn that Eddie and Peter were pretty much left to their own devices.

“But Eddie likes it that way,” Peter continues to ramble, too sugar high to notice he’s digging himself and Eddie’s Au Pair into a deeper hole. “He loves that Kara hardly pays him any mind cause it’s like he’s got more freedom to do certain stuff she’d maybe talk him out of doing or mentions to his Ma.”

“Why do you sound supportive about this?” Tony questions evenly and does his best to fight back the mirth bubbling at the edges of his mouth at the way Peter goes pink and stammers. He leads the younger Omega to the front door after the cab drops them off. “Right, don’t bother making excuses. I don’t even know why I bothered asking. You two are practically the same age. Of course you’d think him keeping quiet about his neglectful Au Pair is optimal baseline. That’s what she’s doing, by the way. Neglecting to do her job. You know what else they call it? Job abandonment.”

“Daaaaaaaaad,” Peter whines, sounding as young as he looks. “Kara wasn’t like absent the whole time. Plus she’s totally going through the motions with her boyfriend Brad, who her best friend Kylie totally saw getting a blowjob from Kara’s academic rival, Victoria, even though he’s been like super flaccid with Kara the past couple of weeks.”

“Why do you know all that?” Tony asks incredulously. “You are _fourteen._ You shouldn’t know anything about this woman’s relationship. Again you are proving my point. Sit down before you burst out of your skin! Jesus. I’m getting you some water and making you take a nap.”

“But I’m not tired!” Peter complains. “Plus you just said that I’m fourteen so if anything you can’t really tell me when to go to sleep.”

“Excuse me? You wanna run that by me again?”

Peter’s eyes widen when his words catch up with him. “That was - I didn’t mean -” he starts to stammer.

“Nope. Zip it.” Tony snaps his fingers and then points down to the mound of pillows still gathered in the middle of the room in their makeshift nest. “You. Sit. Now.”

Peter scrambles to kick off his shoes before he sits obediently.

Satisfied, Tony leaves him for a moment to grab him a glass of water while he silently fumes over Eddie’s Au Pair’s behavior, which subsequently left the boys to their own devices and is ultimately responsible for Peter’s current rebellious mood.

Peter’s eyes are lined with tears and he’s fidgeting nervously by the time Tony returns. He looks deeply ashamed of his behavior.

Tony doesn’t let him off the hook by coddling him. He just wordlessly hands over the water before crossing his arms and watching Peter swallow it all down after mumbling a quick 'thanks'.

Peter tries to hide behind the glass, which proves to be a challenge when it’s completely emptied of water a couple of minutes later. He lowers it but avoids Tony’s neutral gaze while he fidgets with the glass between his hands.

Tony lingers and waits.

Peter looks up at Tony from under his lashes and mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Tony presses. “Or is it that you still think things between Eddie and his Au Pair is ‘pretty cool’. Because I have to say, Peter, I need you to get the bigger picture.”

Peter fidgets and ducks his gaze which frankly answers that question.

“Eyes up for a moment,” Tony directs and waits until he’s got the kid’s attention. “What if you or Eddie got hurt while exercising all that freedom? That’s on Kara. And what if Eddie gets hurt because he continues to stay silent? Well, that’s on him. But what if he gets hurt because I neglected to say something, knowing I should? Different story, right? Cause that’s on me.”

Peter sniffs, looking properly chastised as a few tears slide down his pink cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,” he says and he genuinely sounds it this time. “I don’t w-want her to lose her job b-because of me.”

“If she can’t do it properly in the first place, then she doesn’t deserve to have it.” 

Peter gives a hiccupping sniff and nods. “I understand,” he promises. “I - I know better now not to take things like that lightly.”

“Good. I wasn’t worried that you wouldn’t get on the same page with me. You’re a smart boy,” Tony confirms and nearly smiles at the way Peter glows from the praise. “You’re still taking that nap though.”

Peter deflates and sounds so miserable as he says, “Okay.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh quit that. Big beautiful brown eyes like ours don’t look good with tears in them.”

Peter continues to give him sad cow eyes.

Tony refuses to give in even though he kinda secretly wants to. “You act like you’re being sentenced to death.”

“Naps are like practice for it,” Peter grumbles as he bunkers down in the deepest dip of the pile of pillows.

Tony rolls his eyes and leaves him to it without comment, wandering over to the dining room table where Little Ben is waiting with his laptop and the results he gathered during his fact-finding mission. He feels the beginning pull of intrigue as his brow furrowed in concentration.

Only to be disrupted by Peter remarking, “Oh wow, that’s - that’s new.”

Tony glances over to see Peter rubbing his face against a nearby pillow. “What’s new?”

Peter makes a thoughtfully distracted sound as he continues to scent the pillow. “Did you sleep here?” he asks instead, voice slightly muffled.

Tony does recall taking a nap in that exact spot and says as much.

Peter hums, words slurring a bit as he says, “You smell super sweet. Like fresh fruit. It’s nice. I like it.”

Tony’s stuck between incredulous wonder and fond exasperation. “So does this mean you didn’t like how I smelled before?”

“No, no, no!” Peter quickly exclaims, eyes closed and face relaxed in bliss. “You smell like home. You always smell like home, dad. Just sweeter this time. Dunno.”

“Sure. Right.” Tony huffs and shakes his head, chalking it up to subspace. 

Peter makes a content purring noise that Tony has never heard him make. He mumbles, “Dad, you know I love you, right?”

Tony freezes at that.

“Like not just cause your my Oma? I mean, you definitely are, the best one ever, but also I’m not obligated by genetics to say that either? People don’t always love or even like their parents. But I like you. And I love you. I just wanted to say that.”

Tony’s throat feels clogged with emotion and his eyes are growing a little warm and he’s freaking out a little because he just - he just doesn’t know what to _do_ with all that. He clears his throat to cover the awkward pause.“Uh, thanks, kiddo.”

“Mhm,” Peter replies, definitely deep in subspace. “You know what we should do? We should build one of those LEGO Star Wars models. Always wanted to do that but with the Disney ban it’s impossible.”

Tony makes a mental note to put an order in. He says, “Less talking, more napping.”

Peter mumbles something about not being sleepy while he’s _literally_ falling asleep. Then he’s out for the count in the next couple of minutes.

Whatever small seed of affection that Tony has for him and tries to ignore, deny, and press away, just springs back up again into a living thing.  It stubbornly grows and festers at the sight of the younger Omega cradling one of the pillows Tony slept on tightly to his chest like something precious.

Tony sighs, rising from the table to drape the nearby quilted fleece blanket over Peter, internally making an excuse about how he’s just being practical because he’s on his way to the kitchen anyway to make coffee.

Speaking of coffee, he runs into the same problem again where he can’t even get past the taste of it to really use it for how he needs it. God, what the hell is up with his taste buds lately?

He dumps the pot in frustration and elects to make some tea instead. He's not fond of tea but, unlike coffee at the moment, he can stomach it.

What a fucking nightmare.

He means to research his dilemma but he gets too distracted by the information Little Ben compiled together about the Nomad/Rogers Clan that it completely slips his mind.

Before long, all the words end up blurring together and because the tea he drank had little to no caffeine, he starts yawning every other minute. Eventually, he has to tap out, and forwards all the highlights he made from the bulk of the info Little Ben commissioned, sending it to Steve. 

He stumbles over to Peter and drops like dead weight in a pillow pile nearby.

.

.

.

 **agent-13:** hello uncle tony this is sharon   
**agent-13:** uncle steve gave me your number i hope thats okay   
**agent-13:** i have some concerns about pugsly   
**agent-13:** his battery life seems to have shortened overnight   
**agent-13:** could you come by and take a look this weekend?   
**agent-13:** thank you

.

.

.

Tony wakes up feeling warm. Well, the lower half of him does. He blinks with sleepy confusion and lifts his head, huffing when he realizes that, like Steve, Peter is a stealth snuggler. He’s tucked tightly into Tony’s side, arms around Tony’s waist with his head nestled on Tony’s lower stomach, twitching and purring in his sleep. 

Judging by what Tony can tell from his position, it’s late evening hours. He yawns and tries to stretch as best as he can without jilting Peter, and allows himself a moment to swim in the lingering threads of drowsiness. Exhaustion is still creeping into the edges of his vision and he seriously contemplates going back to sleep because he feels really warm and comfortable. 

Just as he’s about to give in, that’s of course when the doorbell decides to ring.

Tony groans because he’s not expecting company, but the person on the other side must either have some urgent news or just really enjoys listening to the Beatles crone. He carefully slides out from under Peter, who struggles with sleepy complaints before setting Tony free. As soon as he’s on his feet, he makes his way to the door, glancing through the peephole before rolling his eyes.

“Anthony!” Hammer crows the minute Tony opens the door, arms spread wide with the greeting. He looks like an overexcited puppy dressed in a professionally tailored and expensive bespoke suit. 

There is an Omega woman dressed in a tasteful lemon yellow dress, whose height is almost staggering in the pricy high heels she’s sporting. Her blonde hair is cut in a slanted bob, and she would have seemed uptight if it weren’t for the Big Bird stud earrings she’s wearing. It matches the see-through designer handbag she has resting in the crook of her arm.

Tony casts his attention back to Hammer. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t been returning my calls,” is Hammer’s canned response.

“You haven’t called me at all!” Tony points out, already feeling his blood pressure rising.

“I haven’t?” Hammer blinks and looks genuinely confused before he looks at the woman to his left, who just confirms it with a head shake. “See now, I told you to remind me to harass him.”

“And _I_ told you that you do not pay me to endorse your foolish behavior,” she replies crisply, unbothered by the overexaggerated pouts that the Alpha aims her way. She barely bats an eye. “Also, fyi, Omegas do not like to be harassed by pushy Alphas with overinflated egos and an exaggerated sense of self-worth.”

“Oof,” Hammer remarks, slapping a hand over his heart with a wounded look. “You don’t pull your punches at all, do you?”

She gives him a cutting smile before ignoring him in favor of moving her thumbs wildly over her smartphone.

Hammer turns back to Tony and says, “Annie, allow me to introduce you to the wonderful woman who not only keeps me on my toes and manages to stop my life from imploding - Ms. Christine Everhart. But, as you will come to find, favors the color yellow to an impressive degree. Which is why you can call her Canary.”

“No,” Ms. Everhart interjects flatly.

Hammer gives an easygoing shrug. “Okay, it looks like I’m still the only one that gets to do that.”

“No,” Ms. Everhart repeats. “Correction: you are the only one that can’t be trained out of _stopping_. I know how to pick my battles when it comes to you.” She greets Tony with a kinder smile, offering a hand. “Christine Everhart - his PA and wrangler most days. Nice to finally meet the Omega that Mr. Hammer won’t stop crying in his diary about.”

Hammer makes an indignant sound, which gets ignored.

Tony laughs, instantly liking her, and returns the handshake. “Tony Rogers. Please call me Tony. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Everhart.”

Ms. Everhart's smile softens into something more approving as she takes her hand back. “Okay,” she sighs as she shoots Hammer a look. “I see what you mean, and you’re right.”

“You act like that’s a rare occurrence!” Hammer exclaims, really playing up on wounded pride.

Ms. Everhart just waves him off as she clicks her way back to the limo idling curbside where Vanko is leaning against the head of it on a smoke break, eyes darting to and fro as if he’s keeping a lookout.

“Why are you here?” Tony presses again once it’s just the two of them.

Hammer gives a flashy smile. “I miss you, Annie. And I’m not known for my patience. You’ve had enough time to think things over, right?”

“I’m _still_ thinking things over,” Tony points out.

“Geez, you play harder ball then my contracts out in Sweden,” Hammer complains. “Tell you what, come have dinner with me. You can even bring the whole gang. My treat.”

“No thank you. It’s just me and Peter, besides,” Tony says. “My husband and mother-in-law are out of town for a personal family matter at the moment.”

“Oh, come on,” Hammer insists. “All I’m asking for is an hour of your time. And plus, I’ve been talking you up to Banner all day. Don’t make me look like a liar.”

Tony perks up at that. “Banner? As in _the_ Dr. Banner?” he asks eagerly, unable to help himself.

Hammer smirks like a shark that just caught wind of fresh blood in the water and Tony knows he’s pretty much done for. He says, “I think you mean my personal friend and brother from another mother, Dr. Bruce Banner. But yes.  _That_ Banner. He works for me, you know. He’s the Department Lead of the biochemistry faction at Hammer Industries.” 

Tony really shouldn’t take the bait. He really shouldn’t. But it wasn’t too long ago that he’d read Dr. Banner’s latest published article chronicling his theory about how terminal cancer could possibly be cured by gamma infused ultraviolet radiation. He has questions. _So_ many questions, and now with an opportunity like this, to get up close and personal, he could _ask_ them.

“Oh I see those academic heart shaped stars in your eyes,” Hammer remarks and chuckles when Tony gives him a dry look for it. “Come on, Annie. You’re getting free food and a shot at some quality time with one of the greatest minds to have ever graced the science field.”

“True,” Tony grudgingly agrees. “But you’re still apart of that equation, so.”

Hammer laughs outright at that, looking endeared. “Boy, the mouth on you. Like a chip off the old block. It’s going to be no trouble at all making people doubt whether or not Howard really is your sire once I steal you away.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything!” Tony exclaims in exasperation.

Hammer shrugs but looks completely confident. He says, “Listen, it was hell prying Banner from his labs, and I’ll bet my best golfing clubs that he’s fidgeting in the limo now as we speak. That man has a ticking timer that’s always on. It’s now or never, Hammer Junior.”

“Don’t call me that,” Tony mutters but sighs. “Fine. Give me ten minutes to catch Peter up to speed, and we’ll be out.”

“Excellent!” Hammer turns and waltzes back to the limo just as Vanko begins to fuss at him for inviting people out to dinner who he hasn’t screened yet. Hammer merely shrugs, seeming used to Vanko’s overprotectiveness and lets the other Alpha continue to dress him down, stressing the importance of listening to his Head of Security.

Tony leaves them to it and goes to grab Peter to catch him up to speed on the situation.

Peter seems to be more than happy to get with the program, mumbling something about ‘Uncle Bruce’, which Tony decides fervently not to ask before they’re out the door in the next moment and climbing into the limo to join the others in the next.

None of them notice that the limo is being trailed by an unmarked vehicle.


	28. YEAR 1: PART IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - sorry about this, but this is gonna be a short filler chapter which was needed to move the plot along, please accept my measly humble offerings

**youknowwhoiam:** steve   
**youknowwhoiam:** steve   
**youknowwhoiam:** steve i did a thing

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** yeah this text at 3 am (your time) isn’t ominous at all

 **youknowwhoiam:** i have been seduced into saying yes to hammer   
**youknowwhoiam:** via dr bruce banner   
**youknowwhoiam:** who is like so amazing omg better than what i fantasized

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** i just   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i just uh   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** when you say ‘seduced’ and ‘fantasized’ like am i suppose to guess wym   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** because so far they are not good guesses

 **youknowwhoiam:** don’t be jealous lamb not like that lol   
**youknowwhoiam:** those were meant purely in academic terms

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** right sure of course yeah academics

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah so i’ve been wooed   
**youknowwhoiam:** there’s something magical about discussing thermodynamics with a fellow science bro over spicy tikka masala chicken and curry   
**youknowwhoiam:** he said loves working for hammer and he even meant it

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** does this mean you said yes

 **youknowwhoiam:** i did but only because dr banner had nothing but good things to say about hammer industries and its current ceo

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** okay good   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m glad your confident about this   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m behind you 100% honey

 **youknowwhoiam:** i know :) thanks   
**youknowwhoiam:** also!   
**youknowwhoiam:** just so you know   
**youknowwhoiam:** i’m having hammer fly out riley so he can represent me while we initiate the negotiations for both my salaried contract and heir-apparent contract   
  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** you know what you wanna ask for?

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh i know exactly what i’m going to ask for

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** nice   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** again i support anything you shoot for   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** just keep me in the loop 

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh you know there are no secrets between us alpha mine  
**youknowwhoiam:** yeah so let me tell you what your son did the other day :)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** oh boy okay let’s hear it :)

.

.

.

Steve wants to feel awful about the one thing he’s keeping from Tony, but in terms of what it concerns, it’s really hard to feel any guilt. He’s started the path he thinks will help Tony avoid his future demise and he has no regrets about it whatsoever. Steve takes their marriage vows very seriously, even more so now that they have expressed their equal love and devotion to each other. 

If Tony wanted to trust his mind, body, and soul to the care of Steve, well then Steve is going to do whatever it takes to maintain that gift for the rest of their days. He will leave this Earth before his husband and not a moment sooner. He swears it. Right now he’s aiming to keep them both alive long enough to see their great-grandchildren's children. 

“We look so serious this early morning, don't we, Cousin Steve?”

Steve blinks out of his thoughts, mid-sip of his morning tea, seated on the top step of the back porch, drawing the sunlit horizon of his Ma’s home country.

Merida is grinning at him, streaked in dirt from one of the many pig pens littered all across the whole of the Rogers Clan territory, but she’s also glowing with the satisfaction of her morning chores sorted and accomplished. He’s come to learn that she loves this farm, almost as much as anyone else, and she’s happy with her life.

“Don’t mind me,” Steve replies as she fidgets from foot to foot, reaching into her inner raincoat to root around for something. “I'm just soaking in the first hours of true daylight. It amazes me how the world can stand being so beautiful even in the worst of times.”

“Aye,” Merida grunts in agreement before finally revealing a square-shaped package wrapped in brown paper. “Still doesn’t feel real that Uncle Morgan is gone. Sometimes I find myself thinking of something funny or curious and wanting to tell him about it before I remember. What crushing feeling that is.”

Steve nods in agreement behind another sip of his tea as his heart tilts sideways into the familiar ache of grief and guilt and regret. That commonplace tide of ‘ _I should have called him more - I should have visited him more - I should have been there - I should have made sure he knew how much I loved and cared for him_ ’ thread of thoughts washes over him before he pushes it back.  

“Anyway,” Merida goes on to say, clearing her throat and blinking very quickly past a sheen of nostalgic tears, her heavily freckled cheeks blotted with pink. She tucks her wily red hair behind her ears and presents him with the package. “This is for you. This strange but pretty man gave it to me while I was at market visiting the butchers with my Da.”

Steve takes the package and perks up when he recognizes Bucky’s familiar scrawl on the front. He rips it open and laughs when he’s met with a shiny new copy of _Twilight._

Merida makes an amused sound as she sits down beside him so their shoulders can brush with subtle kindred scenting. “Big fan of vampires and werewolves, then?” she teases.

“And if I was?” Steve challenges with a friendly grin. “I’m sure you wouldn’t make fun of me for it, right?”

“Perish the thought!” Merida exclaims, striking her fist onto her open palm with a loyal declaration. “Dreadfully curious, is all.”

“Well you know what they say about curiosity,” Steve mutters absentmindedly as he opens the hardcover to read the note lying in wait inside that goes:

 _Wreckless Citizen,_   
_Consider this an all two early birthday gift._   
_You didn’t think I’d forgotten - no, of course not._   
_You love your nautical classics, don’t you, sunshine?_   
_By the way, are you interested in purchasing an ocean?_   
_I have one you might like - that old western sea._   
_If you can make time for me, I’ll be reasonable about the price._   
_Regards,_ _  
Devoted Soldier_

Back when they were teenagers, he and Bucky and Sam came across this book called _The Science of Encrypted Messages_ the summer before their junior year in high school. They would plant messages for each other all across the neighborhood for weeks of epic games of hide-and-seek, testing each other’s skills and keeping score.

Steve had bested both Sam and Buck by skillfully decrypting their notes and finding them every time. 

It’s a good thing he still has the talent, even years later, because he understands perfectly well what Bucky is trying to communicate. He writes out what he finds:

_Saturday - West Coast Beach - 12 degrees before the sun reaches the horizon_

“Whoa,” Merida remarks, and Steve, in all his excitement of untangling Bucky’s cryptic message, forgot that he’s also supposed to be doing this discretely. “Are you like a _spy,_  Cousin Steve?” she asks excitedly.

Steve laughs, clapping the book shut before tucking it under his right thigh. “Oh sure,” he agrees sarcastically. “The craftiest spy you’ll ever meet. In fact, my field name is Captain America. You should see my uniform. It’s like I had the American flag poured all over me. It helps me feel as patriotic as I can while I run around punching Hydra scum.”

Merida giggles, catching on to his playful tone. “D’ya know, that doesn’t sound half bad. Think the world could use a symbol of justice now more than ever. We’ve all gone complacent in the midst of the ever-growing Climate Crisis.” She sighs sadly. 

Steve quiets in the face of her somber tone. “I’m guessing you’re one of the few not so happy about Hydra’s local interference?” he asks carefully because he’s come to learn in the past few days that it’s a matter of opinion for many people who are more grateful to their looming overseers than not. 

“Da says I’m not supposed to be vocal about that,” Merida mumbles with an unhappy frown as she hugs her knees to her chest. “Worser things have happened to those who did. Don’t imagine that he fancies seeing them happen to me as well. So I keep quiet.”

“Even when it feels wrong,” Steve adds because he understands completely.

Merida nods to his point. She sighs and bumps their shoulders together again, trying to cheer them both up. “Not to worry, Cousin Steve. I’ll keep mum about your wild and dangerous lifestyle,” she jokes before standing.

Steve huffs because she doesn’t even know the half of it. “Thanks,” he replies.

“Besides,” Merida continues, one leg already over the threshold while the screen door hides away half of her body. “Can’t say that I wouldn’t mind rooting for someone like Captain America. I’m sure he’d give us all something to hope for.”

“I’d agree if he actually existed,” Steve concedes.

Merida shrugs. “Early days yet,” she supposes with a wink before disappearing altogether.

Steve smiles to himself as he ducks his head and looks down at his sketch. He lets himself fantasize over the heights of brave heroism before shaking his head dismissively.

Captain America - what a funny thought.

.

.

.

Day four of the Passing Ceremony is mostly for all the elders in the family to commune and talk of very serious things that Steve is apparently too young to be apart of. Which is laughable since he’s nearly thirty but he doesn’t argue the point as his Ma and Cousin Hamish exit the house to attend the luncheon being held at the Main House.

The younger generations of Rogers (16 and under) are participating in a kid-friendly Rogers Summer Solstice event that is supposed to soften the gravity and graveness of the oncoming days. It’s a way to communicate and educate them about life and loss, with everything between, in methods that they can absorb and understand.

Steve thinks it's a clever way to handle death in the family with the little ones, he will give them credit for that. But since Steve is outside of the age demographic to attend the solstice and the luncheon, that pretty much corners him in the middle ground. That means he gets roped into making Potato Whiskey (Poitín) with the incorrigible Triplets in preparation of a small barn party being orchestrated by everyone in the same boat as Steve with little else to do.

Steve would have been completely fine to stay in, watch the news, call Tony and Peter to talk to them for a while, or generally anything else that would keep him out of his family’s chilly path. He’d seen all the info that Tony had forwarded to him, and while it was comforting to know that no one amongst them was even close to being perfect, he was still reluctant to use the ammo.

So he’d given it to his Ma, figuring she had more rights to it then he did, and she’d accepted it with this excited gleam in her eye which meant that the upcoming luncheon would prove to be very entertaining for all involved. He’d have to ask her about that later when he got the chance.

Anyway, the Triplets had actually come and sought him out this time around, warming to him immensely ever since the incident with Mr. Wilber and the good tongue thrashing they’d gotten from Merida.

Steve, likewise, can’t say that he minds it since they have sincerely apologized (one by one) and kept him and his Ma covered against the ire of the rest of the family as much as Cousin Hamish, Abbie, and Merida have.  

“Is it really sanitary to do this in the bathtub?” Steve asks as he peers into said tub in the barn where the festivities were due to take place in just a few short hours. 

Fergus laughs jovially in that nice way he does when he’s not being mean about it. “Careful there, Cousin Steve. Don’t let the locals hear you ask such things or you’ll never see the end of it. A common thing in these parts. Most folks’ll tell you that the best drink comes from the tub. Stir more of the grain and the beets in will you? Not sugary enough yet. Should taste as sweet as honey if we do this right,” he instructs.

Steve moves to do so without question while Agustus and Birdy sing cheerful (and quite crude) melodies while decorating the rest of the barn.

The barn had been erected in the summertime, according to Fergus, who was happy to explain these things while they fussed over their concoction. Fergus clarifies about the newness of the place, saying that everyone with two decent arms and legs was there to help when the old barn burned to the ground because of an unexpected fire. That last season half the grain had been lost to it, as well as to the massive amounts of water it had taken to put it out. 

“Dreadful season,” Agustus had agreed from where he and Birdy were rolling out rows of hanging lights to the ceiling posts. 

Birdy had added, “Aye. No one could bear to be eating half rations of bread for another winter and spring.”

Fergus goes on to say that it was a blessing in disguise, nevertheless. 

This new barn was twice as large as the old barn and built with better materials donated from goodly concerned townsfolk. The foundations were concrete and framed with thick cedar posts. They even shelled out for a nail gun to make things faster. The outside was painted like the ones in storybooks; red, white, and full of hay. 

Now, the rebuilt barn is frequently used for all the best events: weddings, baptisms, birthdays, and so on and so forth. It stands as a monument of warmth and welcomeness.

Steve keeps it in mind to draw this place, as he’s drawn others that have caught his eye, eager to return home and share it with Tony since he couldn’t be here to experience in person.

“You’re doing it again,” Fergus remarks, amused as they put the final touches on their whiskey brew.

Steve blinks out of his thoughts and notices, _really_ notices how dark the sky has gone. “Doing what?” he asks.

Fergus smirks and shoots his brothers a look.

Before Steve knows it, the Triplets are mimicking this sort of whimsical expression paired with a lovesick sigh, all in tandem. He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I do not look or sound like that.”

“Aye, not too true but nearly close just the same,” Birdy argues lightheartedly while Fergus and Agustus snicker in agreement. “Come then, Cousin Steve. We’re might curious as to know the O that’s got you so arsed over the kettle.” 

Steve snorts at the description and shrugs timidly. “You know that saying, it goes, something like … _Pós an ceann ceart agus beidh tú pósta le Paradise?_ ”

Agustus perks up, as do his brothers, with a vested interest, saying, “Aye. _Marry the right one and you'll be married to paradise!_ That’s an old Rogers Clan saying, generations old.”

Steve knows because his Ma taught it to him when he was still a child. “Yeah, well, that’s Tony for me.”

“ _T o n y ~!_ ” the Triplets sing in unison, teasing Steve as he goes a little pink.

“Alright, alright,” Steve laughs as they all take turns shaking him by the shoulders and tugging him every which way. “Come on, knock it off.”

“Show us a picture,” Birdy urges.

“Aye, give us a look!” Fergus agrees while Agustus nods fervently.

Steve hesitates before unearthing his phone from his pocket to show them his lock screen. He watches in amusement as they crowd around it before making impressed and envious sounds.

“Fuck me,” Fergus hisses. “What a fox!”

Agustus and Birdy agree by whistling lecherously.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Ease up, animals,” Steve laughs, snatching his phone back, both loving and hating how they gawk at his husband. 

“I’m pissed you left _him_ behind,” Birdy exclaims, nearly serious. “If I was his Alpha, I’d -”

“Yes?” Steve levels him with a calm look. “Go on. You’d what?”

Birdy flushes, contrite, while Agustus and Fergus howl with laughter, smacking their idiotic brother upside his head. “Nevermind,” he mumbles. “Apologies.”

Steve snorts and tucks his phone away. “I might as well add that he’s exceptionally smart, and paired with the looks, he’s a true diamond, who I have fixed all my hopes on. I’m no fool. I know how lucky I am.”

“Good, this’ll help you keep him,” Fergus says. “But, just between us, what’d you do to get him to pay you notice?”

“Cousin Steve, if you’ve got advice, I’m all ears,” Agustus swears while Birdy agrees.

Steve laughs as all three Alphas lean forward, eagerly awaiting some sage counseling. “Don’t be a knothead, simple as that,” he merely says. “We’re all people, underneath the labels. Respect goes a long way. So does really listening.”

The Triplets seem to contemplate that seriously before they nod and move on to taste-testing the brew.

They all toast when the drink goes down smoothly.

With that (and the decorations) all said and done, Steve helps the Triplets slaughter the fattest pig they can find and roast it over a fire just as the rest of their family starts to trickle in with handmade dishes to add to the long table pushed off to the side for such a purpose as that.

The rest of the night is a blur, and he’s pretty sure he drunk texts Tony like a million times with all sorts of lovey-dovey things that he knows his Omega will poke fun at him for when he’s sober enough to take the teasing.

.

.

.

Steve wakes to the afternoon sun stabbing away at his eyelids, a thudding headache, and the taste of something like a dead animal idling in his mouth. He groans and retreats under his covers, silently vowing to never drink anything that was made in a bathtub ever again, no matter how good it had been at the time. His stomach sloshes and twinges with pain, fuck, he’s not sure if he needs to puke or sit on the toilet. 

He ends up puking after some internal debate his organs have with his brain.

Steve isn’t sure how long he spends holed up in the bathroom, but by the time he moves to return to his shared room with his Ma, she’s already in there, quickly stashing something away under the covers as she glares at him with wide-eyes. He says, “What?”

“You need some air,” Sarah decides as she squirms nervously.

“Do I?” Steve challenges with an amused frown. “What were you doing in here?”

“Never you mind,” Sarah rushes to say, looking even more guilty.

Steve narrows his eyes at her before scoffing. “Yeah, you don’t look suspicious at all. What, were you looking at porn or something?”

Sarah suddenly looks extremely humored. “Aye, you’ve caught me. Now, be a dear and give your sire some _privacy_. Unless you’d like to see? Maybe we have the same tastes.”

Steve gags just imagining it. “Don’t be crude,” he laughs and goes to grab a change of clothes. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” 

“There’s a good lad,” Sarah coos before cackling as he quickly exits.

Steve is pretty sure she’s doing something else entirely that has everything to do with his upcoming birthday but he’s not about to press his luck to figure out just what that is. He returns to the bathroom to shower and change before he ventures down to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. 

Merida is curled up on the couch in the living with Abbie while both of them watch the local news. He gives his greetings and has to exit because the highlight reels are mostly about Hydra soldiers, normalizing their presence and _humanizing_ them with fluffy stories about all the 'good' they are doing.

Steve can’t stomach it, and so decides to finish the plate Abbie set aside for him in the kitchen before migrating to sit on the back porch steps with the dogs while he calls Peter.

“ _Dad told you what I did, didn’t he?_ ” is what Peter says after picking up.

Steve snorts but doesn’t deny it. “Hi. Hello. How are you? I'm good, thanks for asking."

Peter makes a disgruntled sound that's similar to the way Tony does it when he's exasperated by Steve's sarcasm and is unable to properly verbalize it.

Steve smiles to himself over it. He adds, "I’m also checking up on you. How’s everything going?”

Peter shuffles on the other end of the phone before he replies, “ _Dad dropped me off to hang with Auntie Dora and Eddie so he can attend Spider-Man’s public funeral. I wasn’t really interested in going, and I told him that when he asked. But. Like. Eddie won’t speak to me. His Au Pair was fired and I think he knows I had something to do with that._ ”

“Do you need me to get involved, offer advice, or just listen to you?”

Peter sounds like he’s smiling when he replies, “ _Its enough that you’re listening. Thank you._ ”

“Of course, anytime. Eddie’ll get over himself when he realizes it’s for the best.” Steve continues, “More about you, though - how’s that project thing with the Bluetooth headphones going?”

Peter inhales, sitting in stumped silence for a moment before he quietly asks, “ _You know about that?_ ” and he sounds so surprised that Steve’s almost offended.

Almost.

Steve knows better. He’s starting to understand the complicated relationship his future self has with the younger Omega and he’s doing all he can to rectify that. “Yeah, I mean, I asked Tony to explain it to me in small words but I think I got the gist of it, despite not being a big brain like you two.”

Peter huffs in exasperation. “ _You’re not dumb or anything! I hope you don’t think I think that because I don’t, Pops, I really don’t. You have other stuff you’re like really amazing at that I wish I had the talent for, so. You know. It’s not like you have to try really hard to keep up because me and dad totally noticed how you’re quicker than most of the other people in our lives. They get, like, maybe a fraction of the picture, but you get nearly half, and you know how to follow when we do our whole excited ramble thing. It totally sets you apart._ ”

Steve has to admit that it does warm him to hear that. 

“ _You’re basically like our equivalent fraction,_ ” Peter finishes.

“Your what?”

“ _Equivalent fraction,_ ” Peter repeats confidently. _“You know, they like … well they may look different, but they have the same value. That's like us but with like brains and levels of intelligence and stuff._ ”

“That’s sweet of you to say, Pete,” Steve says with a fond half-grin. “Really, braeburn, I’m touched.”

Peter splutters, flustered. “ _Pops -_ _did you just call me your favorite apple? Oh my god. My heart is decimated by the softness, goodbye world._ ”

Steve laughs, caught. “You know about that, huh? I thought I could sneak it past you but you're just as quick as Tony. Too sharp.”

Peter snickers, quiet and wholesome. Then, after calming some, he clears his throat and says, _“So, the Bluetooth project, right? Dad keeps insisting I change the size of my victim headphones to something large enough to hollow out for durable batteries, but all I really need is a decent amount of space for other components …”_

Steve settles in properly to listen, adding sprinkles of praise here and there when Peter pauses long enough to take in a breath.

If Peter verbally stumbles each time Steve pays him those compliments, well both of them ignore it. His voice is steadier, however, when Steve has plenty of questions for him to answer at the end of it. 

Steve likes how transparently pleased Peter is by how pointed the questions are, really outlining how close Steve was paying attention to everything Peter said. 

What can he say? If Steve notices an area of opportunity, he gets overly ambitious to rectify it. Especially when it comes to the people he cares about the most.

.

.

.

The rest of the day seems to crawl by but luckily his hangover completely evaporates at the end of it. It helps that day five of the Passing Ceremony is mostly about rest and self-reflection. He doesn’t think he would have been able to tolerate his family’s constant cold indifference; he barely is able to on a good day. 

His Ma stays holed up in their shared room doing whatever it is she’s doing, so he’s pretty much exiled to spend most of his day on the hammock outside in the cool breeze, napping on and off.

By the time nautical twilight peaks, he’s standing on the West Coast Beach, watching the waves roll in under the soft moonlight. 

Bucky appears, decked out in his full Hydra uniform, shiny helmet pressed under one arm. His eyelids are still streaked with a thick line of dark eyeshadow which Steve thinks is a bit dramatic. Bucky rolls his eyes when Steve says as much and merely shrugs. He says, “We got cleared by the chain of command to let you run some interference. Hey, get that dopey look off your face. Pictures, alright? You’re only taking a few goddamn pictures of what your gramps got stashed away in his little lockbox. That’s it.”

“I got it.”

“Seriously, Steve. You’re just gonna meet up with grannie and play nice with the old broad long enough to _get_ those pictures. Period.”

“I said I got it.”

Bucky levels him with a disapproving frown. “Yeah you say that, but watch you try and do something heroically stupid,” he drawls with a superior look.

Steve scoffs and flips him off. “Between us, you shoulder all the stupid so I don’t gotta,” he retorts.

“Hey, fuck you, pal,” Bucky laughs and throws his fist into a fake jab.

Steve dodges out of the way, glaring when he realizes that the Beta pulled his punch last minute and just wanted Steve to flinch. “You’re a jackass,” he mutters.

Bucky just gives him a shit-eating grin with a wink before his expression falls into something so somber that it’s almost concerning. He says, “I’ve got the blueprints for the old hag’s house. Let’s talk about exactly where you need to go in the time I will be providing a distraction for the span of exactly eleven minutes ...”

.

.

.

Steve’s wearing a suit. A goddamn suit.

Bucky had insisted. He’d went on and on about making a good first impression like he was talking Steve through his first day of preschool like some proud but overprotective parent.

Steve had rolled his eyes but bared it, promising he’d wear the suit. One suit to be exact since that’s the only number he’d brought, thinking he’d only need the one for the final day of resting in the Passing Ceremony. The day Steve was dreading because they’d be lowering Uncle Morgan into a cold grave, there to remain until he turns to dust and ash.

Steve gets queasy just thinking about it as he fidgets out on the doorstep of the biggest, gaudiest manor atop the tallest hill in town. Sweat is pooling around his temples as he presses the doorbell for the fourth time and waits with a bouquet of yellow roses, fidgeting with the knot of his tie. There’s nothing wrong with it, he just likes to know that it’s there. It’s actually Tony’s tie. He’d smiled when he had discovered that Tony had somehow smuggled it in without him noticing. It had given him a thrill to know that his Omega had wanted to have some way to still give him something for the public to know that he was claimed, aside from the Bite on his wrist. 

A young Alpha, who looks to be about somewhere between the ages of 18-23 years of age. He stands at about average height with a hank of violet hair, neatly parted at the side and jelled down. He wore plain clothes full of nothing but neutral browns. He was broad-shouldered and tanned, the paragon of a field hand, and broodingly silent. He looks at Steve with indifferent grey eyes.

Steve opens his mouth to introduce himself but the young Alpha quickly lifts a hand to stall him while pressing a single index finger to his mouth in a wordless petition for silence.

He stares Steve directly in the eyes, still holding that up that hand at the count of five. Then, he tucks his thumb against his inner palm slowly, then next his pinky bows towards the folded thumb, then the smallest middle finger follows, then the tallest, and finally his index finger folds until the whole hand is in a loose fist.

It’s very strange.

Then the young Alpha lowers both hands, still making direct eye contact, and yet he does it in a way that’s neither meant to be undermining or intimidating. He says, with a thick German accent, “At noon, until the clock strikes one o’clock, the Madam demands absolute silence on the property. Luck you are, stranger, that you should happen upon us just as our observation of this tradition has ended. My name is Heinrich, and I wish to know your intentions.”

Steve blinks before he straightens. “My name is Steve Rogers and I - I’m actually the grandson of Lady Nomad. I thought, well … I was wondering if she could make a little time for me?”

Heinrich cocks his head, considering. Then he nods firmly. “One moment, if you please. I will announce you. Please step into the foyer. You are welcomed.”

Steve thanks him shortly as he steps over the threshold and into the sprawling and sparkling foyer with an expensive chandelier dangling above a winding staircase.

Heinrich climbs them in a perfunctory manner.

Steve is left in the quiet, glancing around before he freezes at the portrait of his Da in his younger years, standing stone-faced with his grandparents standing at his back.

Lady Nomad is swaying down the steps, blond hair pressed in starlet waves, a silk Gucci dress adorning her frame, a cocktail in one hand and a short fur wrap dangling precariously over the other arm. The older Omega clicks her way to him, stumbling at the last inch as her drink goes sloshing every which way. She can’t seem to catch her balance completely, squinting her eyes at him before she takes a step back and then her face is folding into a delighted, tearful smile. 

She shoves her drink and fur wrap into Heinrich’s hands before she stumbles towards Steve with grabby hands until she claps them over the sides of his jaw to frame his face between them. 

Lady Nomad’s green eyes jump all over the features of his face as she laughs. “Oh my dear boy - you do not know the depths of joy I am taken to by seeing that my spiteful son gave birth to a runt,” she cruelly coos with a thick German accent, words cutting Steve down like a knife. “Yes, this is perfect karma.” She releases him and spins away to snatch her drink and fur wrap from her manservant. “Come on then. I haven’t got all day,” she snaps as she stumbles towards the staircase.

Steve grits his teeth and pushes back the anger and resentment he can feel bubbling up, choosing to focus instead on the reason he’s here - _for Bucky_ \- and follows after his obnoxious grandmother.

Lady Nomad clumsily but stubbornly marches up the winding staircase down a great hall lined with portraits of their ancestors. She leads him right into her powder room where she sits at a brightly lit vanity mirror. The older Omega takes another sip of her cocktail before she focuses on applying her makeup.

Steve stands awkwardly in the doorway, unsure if he’s permitted to enter.

The powder room is exquisite. 

The walls are covered with a shimmering gold paper and in the middle of the ceiling above all the carved oak furniture was yet another pricey chandelier. Amongst the small couches are silk pillows with intricate Celtic designs woven in gold and green into the fabric itself. 

At the other end of the room lies floor to ceiling french doors that leads to a huge stone balcony, left slightly ajar to let in the scented summer air. Everything else is polished silver decorations which shone brightly in the early evening light. 

But at each flat table surface stood tall, empty (but thoroughly used) wine glasses.

Steve understands all too perfectly that his grandmother is a habitual lush.

Lady Nomad pauses painting her face and stares blankly at his reflection. “Well? What do you want? Money? You’ll not get a single bit of currency from me. I live off of kindness and generosity these days.” She nods pointedly to the Bite on his wrist. “So is it your O? Come to beg for your inheritance for the little knocked up sweetheart you’ve ridden hard and put away wet?”

“Don’t,” Steve warns, jaw locking. “You can think or say whatever you want about me, but don’t disrespect my husband. He’s not my knocked up _anything_. He’s my partner, my equal. He’s damn near my better - the dew and fat of the Earth. Understand that.”

Lady Nomad looks taken aback by his fierce protectiveness, as though she expected differently. She watches him for a long stretch of awkward silence while she drains what’s left of her cocktail. Then she slams it down, making all her knickknacks startle and rattle. She says, “Let me tell you something that you already know but don’t understand. You’re a runt, Steve. But despite all this, you are lucky. Because despite being born a runt, you were born an _Alpha._  So this means you have always been given a choice. Me, I know no such meaning of the word being both an Omega and a woman. But being an Omega, now that is such cruel irony. Born to it without a choice, and bred to never have a choice. Did you give your Omega a choice in loving you?”

“He picked me,” Steve replies, still fiddling with the bouquet of yellow roses he has yet to hand over. “I said yes.”

“Odd,” Lady Nomad remarks, rubbing lotion all over her hands. “Alphas don’t let themselves be picked. They do the picking.”

“I know.” Steve remembers Tony saying nearly that exact same thing to him. “I … understand as best as I can. I try to.”

“That makes you better than most,” Lady Nomad decides before going back to doing her makeup. “I won’t apologize. It’s not my nature, but I won’t be rude. I’m sure you think I’m terrible for the part I played in the banishment of your parents.” She laughs hollowly. “You know, I knew before my husband that Joseph was pregnant. Did he ever tell you that I gave him the money to flee to America? Lord Nomad would have slaughtered you while you were still in your father’s womb, and I had such an obscene amount of affection for him that I couldn’t bear to just sit back as I'd always done and do nothing. Though, Lord Nomad was in such a temper - took all the frustration out on losing his lucrative heir on me. I could count the number of broken bones I’ve earned for your father’s sake to keep his whereabouts secret. And yet he repaid my consideration with years and years of silence and neglect.” She scoffs. “So if you’re not here for money, does that mean Joseph sent you to beg for forgiveness? What a cowardly thing.”

Steve swallows dryly as it dawns on him. “You really don’t know?” he asks hoarsely because if this is some kind of joke - if she’s trying to play him for a fool … “How do you not know?”

“Know what?” Lady Nomad sounds impatient and irritated. 

“He died. He - he’s been dead for years now.”

Lady Nomad stiffens, hand poised to apply more blush that never makes it to her cheek in all of the shocked stillness. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“There was - there were complications when I was born,” Steve explains, watching pained dawning overwhelm her uppity features. “He didn’t make it.”

Lady Nomad’s shoulders are shaking as she stares and stares at him, seeming to absorb this information. She looks like she wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to thrash angrily - but she does none of that. She just slowly turns to face Steve and show him the shiny GPS monitor wrapped like a weight bracelet on her ankle. She says, voice steady yet powerless, “Lord Nomad was quite upset at losing one Omega. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing another. I’m not allowed to leave these grounds, you see. I’m a prisoner here until the day I die. He never let me touch the post or receive calls or any guests. He totally eclipsed my life. And … he probably knew about Joseph. He knew and he didn’t tell me. He let me think that - that I’d been abandoned.” She exhales shakily. “Why do Alphas do such cruel things to us?” she whispers, rhetorically.

Steve is more appalled than he is shocked because he knows how his own kind can be and he hates it - hates that it gets this bad and goes this far and nothing is done about it. He’d always assumed his grandparents' lack involvement was by choice - only now he sees that’s only partially true, at least for his grandfather. “I’m sorry,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say, what else to offer. “I know that’s not enough. I know it’ll never be enough, but I’m sorry. Truly.”

Lady Nomad smiles sadly. “You’re softhearted like him.” Her gaze goes distant. “It’s the best thing he could have given you.” She blinks back into focus before she says, “Are those for me?”

Steve frowns before he follows her gaze and realizes he’s still holding the yellow roses. “Oh. Yes.” He still hesitates. “Could I give them to you?”

Lady Nomad’s smile is warm this time and she nods shortly, gesturing for him to enter her nest. She turns the bouquet of yellow roses every which way with pensive and impressed sounds. “These are lovely. Thank you.”

Steve offers her a tired smile. 

“I need to offer you something to drink,” Lady Nomad suddenly says as she stumbles to her feet just as the doorbell rings. “I hope that’s the grocer. Pardon me for a moment, darling.”

“Take your time, I’ll be here,” Steve lies, knowing that what awaits her is the distraction Bucky promised.

Lady Nomad is clicking her way back down the hall to the winding staircase.

Steve doesn’t waste another second, going off of sheer memory alone, reenacting the directions Bucky gave while they poured over the blueprints he had. He finds his grandfather’s study in no time, and it’s unlocked thankfully, though Steve had been prepared to pick it if push came to shove.

He shuts the double doors behind him and moves with a quickness over to the shelves of the personal library. He’s looking for the false book that will hold the keycard needed to open his grandfather’s safe. 

Steve is down by six minutes by the time he finds what he needs and another three minutes down when he’s rooting through all the files titled 'Project Rebirth', taking frantic but clear pictures of anything he comes across. It’s all either in Russian or German, so he’s not completely sure what any of it says but he figures that for Bucky and his CO to figure out. He’s down to a minute when he has to put everything back just as it was and nearly has to sprint back to his grandmother’s powder room when it’s down to the last ten seconds.

Lady Nomad lifts a brow in question at his flushed face when she returns with Heinrich in tow, who is carrying a tray of tea and cookies to the small coffee table surrounded by short couches off to the side.

“Asthma,” Steve explains breathlessly. “I’ve got a real hair-trigger problem. Most days it takes a little bit of dust here and there.” He shrugs and tries to relax his breathing.

Lady Nomad makes an indignant sound. “Steve, are you attempting to tell me something?” she asks with a syrupy tone that makes the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stand up.

Steve quickly stammers to apologize as he moves to join her while Heinrich fixes them both a cup of tea before leaving them.

Lady Nomad just smiles demurely and waves him off. “Don’t have an aneurysm, darling. Now,” she starts, the rim of her porcelain tea cup poised at the ready near her mouth. “Tell me more about you. What have I missed?”

For hours they talk, warming to each other more and more until Heinrich announces that dinner is ready.

Steve realizes he needs to head back so he can attend the overnight festivities tied to the sixth day of the Passing Ceremony. He says as much to Lady Nomad - _no, you must call me, Mother Fiona_ \- but no he possibly couldn’t because of how strange things have played out. So he tells Lady Nomad he can’t stay and his reasons for needing to leave.

Lady Nomad gives her condolences and gestures to Heinrich with a sort of signal that Steve doesn’t understand as he watches her stand to her feet, a lot more sober than she had been to begin with.

Steve still offers an arm when she looks pointedly at him for it and allows her to escort him to the front door.

Lady Nomad says nothing until they reach the threshold and then she’s pulling away to say, “You know, my husband keeps these funny little detectors in his study. Quite a paranoid man he was.”

Steve stiffens.

“If you wanted all his dirty secrets,” Lady Nomad continues. “All you had to do was ask.”

Heinrich appears with all the files that had been in his grandfather’s safe, neatly wrapped up like some sort of gift.

Steve sputters as it’s dumped in his arms, completely flabbergasted. 

Lady Nomad just pets a wrinkled and bejeweled hand against his cheek with snobbish affection. “Close your mouth, darling. You’ll catch flies.” She nods to Heinrich once more and the younger Alpha adds a book on top of the pile Steve is already holding. “You had such a gleam in your eye when you mentioned the shared affection you and your partner had for the movie, I figured you could possibly bond over the book more so.”

Steve gets a look of the title and gawks. It’s a _first edition_ copy of _The Princess Bride._

“Between us,” Lady Nomad remarks, grabbing his stunned attention. “I never much liked Hydra and all that business Lord Nomad had to do with it. And I like my husband even less than them. I hope whoever you’re giving all this to does something meaningful with it. I hope it makes Peevish turn in his grave. Try and not disappointment, Steve. You’re the best of what’s left of us Nomads. Continue to be.”

Steve can do nothing but nod.

Lady Nomad smiles sadly but seems oddly satisfied with the gesture. “I would have left you everything, you know. If it had been my choice, I would have given all of what we had to you. But it’s Hydra’s now, and they won’t return it, I’m sure. So I give you the best of my hopes for you, and your husband, and any children you may have. I would have like to have seen them.”

Steve is made uncomfortable by the finality of her words. “We could visit. There are no more misunderstandings between us and I don’t think the worse of you to treat you still as a stranger,” he swears.

Lady Nomad just goes on smiling sadly. “Don’t you dare bring them to this cursed place,” she warns. “This is all condemned. I’d make do with pictures if you should feel inclined to send them to me, but we both know that as long as Hydra remains a secured power, it is not a safe place. If they even knew there was still a Nomad heir, mercy, well we won’t let them find out. You can’t come back here, Steve. For your own sake and any children you may have. They think you are owed to them because of your stupid, greedy ancestors. Don’t come back.”

Steve feels that familiar urge to buck against what he’s been told, to rebel, to fight, but it’s not just him anymore and he has to be smarter about his battles. So he reluctantly nods in agreement.

“It was nice getting to know you, and seeing you, if only for this time,” Lady Nomad adds and takes another step back with a nod to Heinrich, who ushers Steve out the door.

Steve continues down the driveway, where he knows Bucky will be waiting, and he doesn’t look back, even as he feels his grandmother’s unwavering gaze on him the whole time.

Bucky looks bemused, baffled, but exasperated when Steve explains exactly what happened as he hands the files over. Bucky says, “Damn, it’s true what they say. Hell hath no fury. Maybe we oughta turn you into a spy. You work fast off of all that sappy kindness alone.”

Steve kicks him.

.

.

.

Steve feels bad about having to lie to his Ma about where he was when he gets back to the house to change for the Midnight Feast. He just doesn’t want to dredge up past hurts and old wounds, so he keeps his cloak and dagger activities to himself. It helps that he knows, in the back of his mind, that Bucky is on his way back to the States that very moment.

The Midnight Feast was being hosted on the West Coast Beach, under a canopy of stars crowded around a Full Moon. 

There was a great, big roaring fire; a red, orange and yellow ball of rage roared upward eating its way through the wooden pyramid at its base. Plumes of grey are buffeted into the night sky, carried aimlessly by a chilly seaside wind. Ashen debris glides silently away from the smoke onto the throng of excited children dancing around it in their paper masks to mock death while warding off unfriendly ghosts and talkative adults that all stood in awe of the great, beastly fire, their eyes transformed into orbs of light, each flickering orange flame playing a light show on their pupils.

This is the part of the Passing Ceremony that encouraged the wrathful part of grieving. Each family member had been encouraged to write a letter detailing any injustices or imagined wrongs they felt they still had with Uncle Morgan. Now was the time to spit and curse his name without cursing themselves by speaking ill of the dead. Today it was allowed because by the time the sun would rise, bringing in a new dawn, they will have thrown the letters into the fire and swear their forgiveness, lest some grudge keep Uncle Morgan’s spirit tied to the earthly realm and far from eternal peace.

Steve and his Ma sit on a blanket on the sand, far off to the side where they can’t hear their family speak ill of them, but still near enough to catch all the cold glares.

“We should go home after this, I think,” Sarah sighs while they carve Gaelic rune sigils into wooden planks in a last attempt to pull upon the magicks of the universe to allow Uncle Morgan’s spirit safe passage to metaphysical paradise.

Steve had been taught all the important Gaelic rune sigils at a young age, and he happily uses this knowledge to distract himself from how stubbornly rude and segregating the rest of their kin was being. “How do you mean?” he asks, using the sharp whittling knife to create a neat line of sigils in his plank.

“I _mean,_ ” Sarah exaggerates the word, blowing a lock of red hair from her face. “That I was so intent on seeing my brother off the right way, that I was willing to be a verbal punching bag for all of our kinfolk to delight in. And what’s worse is that I roped you into it too. But after you gave me that glorious discourse on every single flaw or dirty secret known to the Rogers Clan, I realized … we’re better off leaving them to their own demises. The only person who truly loved and cared for us is gone.”

Steve holds her gaze as he thinks over her words.

“Morgan was absolutely the only redeeming quality about this place, about this family,” Sarah remarks, her tone introspective. “No offense to Cousin Hamish, who I love just as well, but he’s comfortable where he’s at, and I’ll make no more trouble for him by turning his family into the black sheep we are. Plus I heard Merida’s set to inherit this territory. It was in Morgan’s final rites. I know she’ll turn this place around, and when she does, maybe then we’ll come back.”

“You really mean that,” Steve realizes, baffled as Sarah simply smiles with a shrug. “You’re really okay to just pack up tonight and leave? What about the rest of the Passing Ceremony?”

“We don’t need to be here to do that,” Sarah decides, confident and certain. “The only difference is that while we won't have an actual body to bury, we will at least be amongst our real family, our _true_ family.”

God, yeah, Steve has to admit that sounds very ideal. He still says, “I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Sarah smiles and says, “Aye. Should we keep this between us, then? Surprise Peter and Tony?”

Steve laughs, thrilled, and nods.

They quickly finish up their grieving planks before casting them into the bonfire, and they don’t waste another moment saying their goodbyes only to the Triplets, Cousin Hamish, Abbie, and Merida, all of whom promise to try and come visit them in the States during the upcoming winter holidays.

Steve dashes back to Cousin Hamish’s place with his Ma so they can pack and catch the next flight back to New York. He’s never been more ready to board a plane in his entire life, thinking solely of what awaits him when they land.


	29. YEAR 1: PART V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - ok i really sweat this one out ya'll and it's lengthy to make up the difference of how short the last one was, ok enjoy thanks bye :)

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

Tony hadn’t spoken a single word when he and Peter climbed into Hammer’s stretch limo. It was nerves mostly, not that Dr. Banner noticed anyway, too busy with his head stuck in the pages of the latest medical journal. The older Omega would occasionally hum thoughtfully here and there, sometimes soft agreeable sounds and other times exhaling disapproving throat noises. His eyes would deliberately scan the pages, line by line, as though he were searching for some deeper meaning not immediately apparent upon the first glance. He made reading look like art; a pointed performance of solitude.

Tony was  _fascinated_. 

Dr. Banner seemed a little worn and tired, despite the eagerness of his reading, as he sat in the furthest part of the limo near the front where Vanko is behind the wheel with Ms. Everhart in the passenger seat; Vanko has lifted the partition for privacy.

Tony probably should have taken Dr. Banner’s distance as a hint while he watched the older man pour over the deeply highlighted medical journal in his hands. But Tony, not being one to pass up an opportunity in the name of science, may or may not have been pretending to be interested in grabbing seltzer water from the mini-bar the older Omega was seated next to.

Peter was engaged in a lively debate with Hammer over the best hotdog vendor in all of New York - Hammer insists on the kiosks at Coney Island but Peter is stubbornly upvoting the stands in Queens.

Anyway, there Tony was, pretending to contemplate between plain, flat seltzer water or the one with a twist of lime and a hint of cucumber while shooting Dr. Banner curious looks. He's really only spending those 14 minutes working up the courage to _say something_. But when he does, it kind of all goes to hell. 

There’s some extra information here, which he leaves out when he texts Steve later that night, that he’d rather not disclose in _full detail_ for the sake of his dignity, about how he opened a can and sprayed fizzy water drink all over the older man while sputtering out a million apologies. 

Dr. Banner had taken it all in stride and offered to pay for the damages, which Hammer immediately waved off, too amused by the progression of things.

Tony had pointedly not looked at the Alpha as he apologized once more while Dr. Banner fiddled with his glasses sheepishly, making a dry joke about how he’d been due for a shower anyway. 

Hammer didn’t waste the opportunity to tease them both about it.

Tony had wound up being so tongue-tied and mortified by the whole experience that he let the older Alpha and silently tried to think about how he could recover from this without coming off as an even bigger fool. 

But for Dr. Banner’s wide stature, he’s incredibly meek and mild, and he kindly gives Tony a chance to explain himself over a spread of steaming platters of peppery chicken, curry, and freshly baked naan bread at a local India house restaurant that Hammer rents out exclusively for a private dinner. 

Tony finds, as they all sit and commune over mouth-watering but really spicy food, Dr. Banner is incredibly easy to talk to, and Tony shares more of his own personal sob story than he would ever feel comfortable with anyone else (outside of those in his immediate circle). They also talk at length about their shared experiences of being an Omega in the science community. 

They jump from subject to subject with ease, and Tony has to admit that talking with the older Omega is great and all but watching Dr. Banner eat is another thing _entirely_. He packs all his food away to an impressive degree, eating almost mindlessly like he’s storing up for some kind of winter hibernation. It’s like he’s got a black hole for a stomach.

Tony can be blunt about a lot of things but he’s learning to be better about social cues so he doesn’t comment on the older Omega’s eating habits, despite his sheer unrelenting curiosity about it. He also very politely does not bring up Dr. Banner’s well-known superhero friend and ally, the Hulk. He’s curious, of course, because he’s heard rumors about the two - though their connection to each other is as hard to pinpoint as a cryptid. He knows what most of the public knows - that Dr. Banner was there with the man before he was forever transformed into a mean green giant. But Tony has enough sense to know it would be rude, so he doesn’t ask. At least not yet, they can work their way there. 

It’s just that, well, Dr. Banner almost feels like a long lost friend. He feels silly for thinking it and is generally annoyed when the logical part of his brain points out that he only has a couple of months of experience in the friendship department (he only really has Steve, Miles, Dora, and Gwen as a few withstanding variables). He’s silently stewing over the fact as Dr. Banner glances at his watch and moves to stand.

Tony tries not to let his disappointment show. He’s probably monopolized too much of the older man’s time anyway, and he should be lucky that he even got a chance to chat as is. Especially after that horrible introduction. 

Dr. Banner says a few polite goodbyes to Hammer, Ms. Everhart, and Vanko, before nodding at Peter. Then he turns to Tony and asks the younger Omega to walk him out, that is, if Tony wouldn’t mind.

Tony absolutely does not mind prolonging their interaction, and he stands out on that gum covered sidewalk while Dr. Banner calls himself a rideshare.

“Mr. Rogers -”

“Please call me Tony,” Tony insists with a grin that’s more bravado than humor. “It’s the least I can do for nearly drowning you, Dr. Banner.” 

“Tony,” Dr. Banner says, fiddling with his glasses again. He looks unsure for a moment before he continues, “Call me Bruce." He pauses, then says, "Listen. I know how Justin seems, how he can … come off. But he’s a good man, a good Alpha. Better than the ones I’ve known. And believe me, I’ve known some really terrible ones. My last one, to say the least - military man. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that as obnoxious as he is, his heart is always in a good place. He helped me get a second chance after the Harlem Incident with my friend. A lot of people were out for his blood but Hammer stepped in, fought for him, fought for me. The work that I do - that I’m _allowed_ to do, even as an Omega, well, Justin made that possible. I love what I do, where I’m at, and who I’m doing it for. If he’s trying to recruit you like he says he is ... could I offer some advice?” 

“Please. Anything to get my feet on the ground and off the fence,” Tony encourages. “I’m not usually this picky. I know that I don’t - I mean, it’s like I told you. I don’t have many options at the moment thanks to my old man. I would shoe shine in the lobby of Hammer Industries if it meant I could get my Agency back. I’m not too proud.”

Dr. Banner chuckles and looks charmed. “That’s certainly something to picture. And I understand, believe me. I was in that position not too long ago and Hammer made some calls and did a few things I still question the legality of, but it got me what I needed and put me in the position where no one could threaten or hold my Agency over me ever again. I can’t give you any guarantees that it’ll be like that for you. There’s a lengthy contract process —”

Tony frowns and internally deflates. Great. _Contracts._

“— but it’s always _fair,_ ” Dr. Banner quickly assures. “These contracts are far above what any Omega would expect in the industry. Hammer makes sure of that.” 

Tony rolls that around in his head and says, “Okay.”

Dr. Banner writes down his phone number on a slightly damp napkin before handing it over, insisting Tony uses it and not be a stranger since it looks like they will be coworkers soon. He gives Tony one last half-smile before he climbs into the rideshare car that parks curbside for him.

Tony returns to the restaurant, looks Hammer straight in the eye, and says, “I’m not saying yes without my lawyer. You’re going to eat the expenses it’ll take to get him out here.”

Hammer perks up eagerly at that and simply says, “And eat them I shall, Annie. I'll have my team have something drafted in the next forty-eight hours. Whatever baby wants, baby gets.”

Peter snorts.

Vanko shakes his head as he piles more food on another plate.

Ms. Everhart shoots Hammer an exasperated look while she orders dessert for the table and starts making the calls on his behalf without having to be asked directly.

Tony glares at the older Alpha as he sits down next to Peter. “You’re already making me regret this,” he warns.

“Good. I’ve always wanted to be an ‘Embarrassing Dad’ and you’re fulfilling that dream. I’m fully committed to this thing between us, heir mine. So good luck with that.”

.

.

.

_You have added Sharon Carter to the conversation named ‘Basement Chocolatiers’_

**youknowwhoiam:** i should be free saturday morning  
**youknowwhoiam:** keep pugsly away from water in the meantime

 **agent-13** : okay thank you uncle tony

 **youknowwhoiam:** sure thing kiddo

 **agent-13:** i like what you named our conversation

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah?  
**youknowwhoiam:** i thought it fit us given how we met

 **agent-13:** very altruistic

 **youknowwhoiam:** (:

.

.

.

Friday morning is nothing but ominous grey skies. It’s like the Earth knows that this is a sad day for all of New York. People pour out into the streets sporting Spider-Man colors and merch with mournful faces. They are all headed to the same place for Peter Parker’s homegoing: Forest Hills Cathedral. 

It’s the saddest march in the most depressing parade.

Tony dresses in all black (plainclothes), asks Peter if he’s interested in tagging along to the proceedings and drops him off with Dora and Eddie when the teen says he’d rather not. He’s uncomfortable with funerals, he explains, and Tony assures him it’s fine that he’s not going after Dora assures him that she’d be more than happy to host Peter in the meantime. 

Dora and Tony have a quick conversation where she thanks him again for saying something about Kara, Eddie’s Au Pair, and explains she’s in the process of looking for a more diligent replacement. 

Tony guesses that Eddie isn’t too excited about this change in pace since he halfheartedly greets Tony when he stops in for a second to see Peter off. He also notices the way Eddie pointedly ignores Peter, and while it needles at Tony, he decides to text Steve and ask him to check in on Peter when he gets the chance. He’ll talk to Peter about it later when he comes to collect him, but for now, he makes his way to meet up with Miles at his grandmother’s house.

Guadelupe greets him warmly with an affectionate kiss to both his cheeks and a hug when he arrives at her tiny apartment in Queens. She guides him to the kitchen where there is a spread of food waiting (fried sofrito, pork-filled papas rellenas, and griddled maduros).

A costumed Miles, dressed in a rib-knit jogger set that seems way too small on him, sits alone at the table with one of his grandmother's cats purring in his lap. Miles greets Tony with an enthusiastic hug after patting the empty seat beside him. “Deadpool’s not coming,” he explains when Tony looks for the merc.

Tony hopes his face is neutral when he responds, “Oh?”

Miles snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, you look super disappointed by that. He wanted to go but in the end, he couldn’t really bring himself. He cared about Parker a lot, and this is tearing him to shreds. He’s not fit for the public, the way he explains it. I’mma go and check on him later. Make sure he tip-top, you know?”

Tony shrugs but he gets it, even though he wants to talk Miles out of doing that. He still doesn’t trust the merc. He’ll probably end up tagging along with Miles, just to be sure the younger Alpha is okay and that’s going to suck.

“Anyway, you did some good showing up but you ain’t showing out. What’s with that?” Miles asks, making Tony a plate of food after he gestures at the Omega's outfit.

Tony huffs and lets the younger Alpha serve him. “What, are you surprised? I told you I wasn’t wearing a costume,” he reminds.

“Ay man, that’s some bull. Now you _know_ you need to put some respect on Spider-Man name. Lucky for you, I thought ahead and got you this mask.”

“I’m not wearing a mask.”

“Yes you are, or you gonna have to square up and we bout to be boxing all over this joint. And I bet you that me and my grams tag team you too. Be warned. I’m the nice one cause I fight cute. But my grannie is a beast. I put that on everything. Right, _Abuelita?_ ”

Guadalupe is cooking rice at the stove and she scoffs, kissing the front of her teeth as she replies, in rapid Spanish, “ _Don’t pull me into your mess. Be nicer to your friend before I knock you down, Miles. This is surely not what you want, little candy._ ”

Miles stammers with exaggerated outrage while Tony tries not to choke on his food, too busy laughing too hard. Miles smacks his lips, even though the corners of his mouth are twitching in amusement to an insane degree while he turns to face Tony again. “Now why _you_ laughing? Ain’t nothing ever been that funny. Chill out.”

Tony snorts. “I promise I only laugh at things I find funny,” he retorts, reaching for the _Tapatío_ hot sauce because he’s craving the extra spicy kick.

“Yeah, aight.” Miles leans over to rustle through his backpack before he hands over an imitation Spider-Man mask wrapped in thin plastic. “You can at least wear that. Get you some clout. Come on, do it for the squad.” 

“Fine, fine.” Tony takes it with a grin and an exasperated shake of the head, resting it on his lap so he can finish his food. “But only when we get there, and only during. As soon as it’s over, I’m tossing it.”

“You not tossing shit cause I paid for that,” Miles argues, nearly whining. “You better treat that like your child. Like your favorite child. Like your favorite five-dollar child.”

Tony laughs between bites and they playfully argue over it back and forth until they are both too full to even speak anymore.

Miles, who packed away more food than Tony, though Tony suspects that has to do with his heightened metabolism, drags him over to the couch so they can nap off their food coma together.

Tony curls up into the warm line of Miles’s side, not minding when the younger Alpha starts scenting him like family again, and returns the gesture with equal affection until they both drift off to the sound of Guadelupe singing with a beautiful smoky voice to her yowling cats in Spanish while she cleans up in the kitchen.

.

.

.

 **Forest Hills Cathedral of St. Geneviève** is an aged building made with heavy stones, surrounded by a massive crowd of people from all walks of life who have come to pay their respects, many of them wearing Spider-Man masks or costumes. It really highlights just how beloved Peter Parker was in New York and how much its citizens will miss him. 

The church bells ring, announcing the start of things, sending a flock of pigeons into disarray, cooing and flapping violently away towards the gloomy and grey sky. 

Miles and Tony stand side-by-side. The younger Alpha, despite his tall and wide stature brought about by his recent run in with a radioactive spider, is still as eclipsed and swallowed up by the surrounding crowds as much as Tony is.

Though Miles thinks it’s funny to joke about what a shortie Tony is now, teasing him and lightheartedly offering to put the Omega on his shoulders so he can see. 

Tony finds satisfaction in the high-pitched yelp Miles gives when Tony pinches his side in retaliation.

Miles grumbles about how he doesn't understand how someone who smells as sweetly as Tony does can be so mean.

Tony just rolls his eyes and that’s the end of that.

The intimate part of the funeral proceedings is held behind the cathedral doors in private amongst Peter Parker’s closest and valued friends and loved ones. Once that’s over, before they carry the casket out, Mary Jane Watson approaches the sea of faces sporting Spider-Man’s merch with a tearful smile. She stands proud and strong in her funeral attire with May Parker standing in silent support behind her.

Mary Jane puts her hands flat on the podium as she exhales shakily into the mics lined up by the media. The pretty Alpha shoulders the weight of all the cameras aimed in her direction as she clears her throat. She says, “First of all, I’d like to say thank you.”

A solemn hush rests over the massive crowd.

“It means … _so much_ that you took time out of your busy lives to be here,” Mary Jane continues, voice wobbly with emotion. She pauses as more tears slide down her cheek and she quickly takes the handkerchief May Parker offers to her while placing a comforting hand on Mary Jane’s trembling shoulders. 

Everyone waits patiently with respectful but sympathetic silence.

Tony can feel heat building behind his own eyes at the sight, and by the way that Miles suddenly clutches his left hand, he knows the younger Alpha isn’t faring any better either.

Mary Jane quickly works to catch all the tears that slip out as her cheeks go red with grief. She sniffs and lifts her chin as she tries to meet each and every one of their gazes. “My husband Peter Parker was an ordinary person that had something extraordinary happen to him,” she begins. “He once said that it could be anyone behind the mask.”

It’s so silent, heavy with the attention being paid to the red haired Alpha, so thick that it could be cut with a knife. 

“He could have gone anywhere in the world with his gifts. Anywhere. But New York was his home. His friends were here. His career. His family,” Mary Jane goes on to say. “Now, I don't know about you, but if I could go anywhere in the world, I would. But that’s the thing about Peter. It wasn’t about what he _could_ do. It was always about what he _should_ do. He loves -  _loved_ New York. To him, you were his family. He couldn’t give up protecting his family. Even to make a dream come true.”

Tony is suddenly glad for the mask he’s wearing because it’s hiding the tears falling quietly down his cheeks.

“Being married to Spider-Man was sometimes worse than being married to a policeman, I’ll admit. At least a policeman's wife would get a call in the middle of the night,” Mary Jane jokes and everyone laughs sadly. “Peter was proof that the ‘when and how’ you were born into this world just doesn't matter. Peter - _my_ Peter - he has always done the right thing and defined himself by his actions. Not by whether he was born to tragedy, which he was, absolutely. But he didn’t let the cruelness of the world and the treatment of Omegas stop him from doing what he knew was right. Because when it really comes down to it, gender, secondary or not, just does not matter.”

The crowd begins to clap, with most of the enthusiasm coming from the Omega side of the crowd, which is large in number. 

Mary Jane smiles and waits for them to calm down before she finishes, “Peter was just a kid who happened to get bit. He didn't ask for his powers, but he chose to be Spider-Man.” She once again tries to meet each and every one of their teary-eyed gazes with her own. “My favorite thing about Peter is that he made us each feel powerful. And, in a way, we all do have powers that are one kind or the other. And in our own way we are all Spider-Man. And we are all counting on _you_.”

Miles exhales shakily. “They’re counting on me,” he mumbles, sincerely taking it to heart.

Tony squeezes his hand in a silent show of support, understanding.

But some guy in front of them hears it too and turns to say, “Well, not you _you_. It’s like a metaphor, dude.”

“Thanks, we got that,” Tony says flatly, shooting the nosy man a look while Miles snickers beside him.

The guy shrugs and faces forward again.

“Please, if you would, join us as we give Peter a final send-off,” May Parker says as the pallbearers start making their way through the crowd with the casket to the cemetery area.

.

.

.

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** honey  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** honey  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** honey  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** honey

 **youknowwhoiam:** wow yes you have my attention  
**youknowwhoiam:** what’s up buttercup

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hney yu ar so prtty  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** do i tll you tht enoogh???

 **youknowwhoiam:** omg steve are you  
**youknowwhoiam:** what are you doing

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** prty barn   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** drnks  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i drnk from bthtub  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** normal

 **youknowwhoiam:** you are really lit right now, aren't you?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** ur so prtty  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** im bad hsbnd

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh my god  
**youknowwhoiam:** why do you think you’re a bad husband

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** dnt say enogh how prtty u r  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** and smrt  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** smrter than tht guy  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** the guy wth crzy hare

 **youknowwhoiam:** are you talking about einstein lol

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** yes! hney look see  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** mindreder  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** rdder  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** readr

 **youknowwhoiam:** i mean i’m just guessing  
**youknowwhoiam:** you make it easy to know what you’re thinking lamb

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** honey ur prefct for m   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i lve u so mch  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** miss u

 **youknowwhoiam:** i love and miss you too

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** dnt eve wnna b wthout u

 **youknowwhoiam:** ok ok omg  
**youknowwhoiam:** if you love me go drink lots of water  
**youknowwhoiam:** you need to like stop drinking if you still are please

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** k  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** lv yu prtty

 **youknowwhoiam:** i’m gonna give you so much shit for this  
**youknowwhoiam:** love you too lamb DRINK WATER I MEAN IT

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** k

.

.

.

“What’s so funny? Your cheeks all rosy,” Miles points out as he pokes one of Tony’s heated cheeks, grinning when the Omega slaps his hand away.

“Steve is drunk texting,” Tony merely replies as he slips his phone back in his pocket. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“Yes,” Miles promises as he continues to navigate them through the underground tunnel system of New York’s public transportation. Miles is using the flashlight feature on his phone as they wind deeper and deeper towards the more abandoned sections. “Shouldn’t be much further.”

Tony grunts and tries not to gag at all the different smells he can pick up. It’s making his stomach queasy. He doesn’t know how Miles can be so unaffected by it, even with his heightened senses dialed to an eleven. Tony is having a hard time ignoring the persistent stench of raw sewage and dead rat corpses. Finally, he has to ask, "God, how are you not affected by the smells down here?"

"Oh, I am," Miles promises. "But it's easier with you."

"Me? Why me? What about me?"

"Dunno how to explain it. It's easier to focus on you. You smell like - I mean, don't take this the wrong way because I don't even mean it the wrong way - but you smell really good. Really sugary. It's kinda drowning out most of the bad smells for me."

"You're weird. That's weird," Tony replies bemusedly.

Miles merely shrugs as he stops before a tall fence, climbing up and over with the kind of grace that Tony envies.

Tony’s efforts are clumsy at best, and he’s glad for Miles’s lightening reflexes because the younger Alpha catches him when he nearly faceplants into the fractured concrete floor. He flushes in embarrassment and mumbles, “Thanks.”

“Real talk, if I can catch you, I’ll always catch you,” Miles swears, sounding sweet and sincere as he sets Tony on his feet. “It’s the least I can do since you’re helping me out here.”

Tony feels nothing but warm, friendly validation at the words. “Yeah, well, what are friends for?”

Miles does the ‘bang-bang’ gesture as he turns his hands into finger guns. “Exactly, my dude! Come on, our little arachnid friend should be somewhere over there.” He points to the spray-painted mural he’d done some days ago.

Tony has to admit that while it had been impressive seeing it via photo, it’s something more to appreciate and behold in person. He says as much while Miles goes looking for the radioactive spider.

“Thanks. You know, some days I think maybe I should turn my focus more on my art skills. Accumulate my guap that way. But my OG want me to get a degree in like biochemistry and all that.”

“Sorry, back up a little. What’s guap? And what’s OG?”

Miles laughs as he crouches down with the camera light on his phone to search all around his feet. “Guap is like slang for ‘money’, and when I say OG, I mean like, my parents. They ‘old generation’ and so I call them my OG.”

Tony makes a sound of understanding as he turns away from the mural to be more proactive about helping Miles. “If my advice can be considered, I think you should do what you love and make a career out of it. Better than doing what you have to because that can get old pretty quick.”

“I feel you on that,” Miles agrees as they continue to search the whole area. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. But my pops is like … he trynna keep me leveled up. It’s about success and money. He don’t want me growing up like how he did, you know? He and my Uncle Aaron struggled to survive and did some things they tell me they was never proud of in order to do that. My dad don’t want me getting desperate like that. But it’s like … he and Uncle Aaron turned out fine. What do I got to worry for?”

“You’re really smart,” Tony points out, keeping his eyes busy as he uses the camera light from his own phone. “I think there are great expectations about that. There usually is when you’re at genius-level. Everyone thinks you should be climbing these mountains and fishing for greatness. Sometimes that can be - it’s so conforming. We should be able to make our own choices with what to do with our brains. But I get that your parents mean well. They probably want you to have access to all the resources they couldn’t get to.”

“Yeah,” Miles sighs, still looking. “But it’s also like, man, let me decide too, you know? Let me get out there and make my own mistakes. Whole time we just speaking in hypotheticals and whatever. Let me just be great the way _I_ wanna be great. Like, please.”

“Give them time,” Tony suggests. “You’re a good kid, Miles. I’m sure that had everything to do with how you were raised, so your family must be really good people. That’s more than most of us get. At least consider that.”

Miles nods and opens his mouth to reply, but suddenly he pauses. There’s this slight tick his mouth and eyebrows do before he’s suddenly shouting, “Wait!”

Tony freezes, one foot off the ground mid-walk. 

Miles quickly dives on the floor and picks up the radioactive spider lying belly up in the space where Tony was about to step into. “Yo, this is it. This is it!” he exclaims, standing to show Tony.

Tony makes a thoughtful sound, poking it and blinking in surprise when it goes in and out of invisibility. “Whoa,” he breathes. Then he meets Miles’s gaze. “So … what was that all about? It was like you knew -”

“That you were gonna step on it?” Miles interjects as Tony nods, unbothered by the interruption. “Uh, well, I told you I get this tingly sensation, right? I think it’s like my spidey senses or whatever.”

Tony nods because that does seem to be a fair assumption.

A figure moves in the shadows behind Miles, and before Tony can cry out, there’s a hand coming down on Miles’s shoulder.

Miles yelps in surprise, his entire body suddenly lighting up like static and sending the mystery figure flying back with a pained groan.

Tony presses a hand to his heart where it’s galloping wildly in his chest. He’s a bit shaky with it and when he turns to look at Miles, he sees the younger Alpha is no better.

“Uh - I think - I think we should take note of what just happened,” Miles says, voice slightly shaky, pocketing the radioactive spider. “Apparently I have the power to emit a bio-electric ‘venom’ blast to stun and disable.”

“Noted. Remind me never to surprise you.”

Miles snorts as he aims his camera light in the direction of the mystery figure, and they both close in to get a better look.

Whoever this is, smells like a really sad and lonely Omega. Judging by the body type, they're male, and possibly homeless. Well, that’s if the lack of shoes, heavily worn trench coat, ill-fitting spider suit shirt paired with a mask, and some baggy grey joggers are any indication.

“Miles … did you just kill a homeless guy?”

Miles makes an incoherent, slightly panicky gurgling sound as he crouches down next to the body. Then he slaps the side of Tony’s leg in excitement as he exclaims, “He’s breathing! He’s totally breathing. _No puedo creerlo! Qué fuerte hombre!_ ”

Tony huffs, understanding good and well what Miles is saying, despite the language switch up. “Should we call the cops? We’re technically trespassing right now,” he points out.

Miles makes an agreeable sound before pushes up one of the guy’s trench coat sleeves to reveal, _what the hell_ , yup, those are definitely web-slinger devices. Then Miles reaches out to unmask the mystery figure.

Tony stares in shock.

“Uhhh …” Miles is blinking wildly at the face that greets them and then back to Tony for clarification. 

Tony shrugs, completely floored.

The man looks like a spitting image of the recently deceased Peter Parker. Albeit, a middle aged, scruffy and disheveled, brown-haired version, but despite that, he’s a dead ringer. 

Tony suddenly giggles nervously at his unintended pun and waves off Miles’s look of concern.  He calms down and clears his throat. “What should we do? We can’t leave him here, and I don’t know about you but I have a ton of questions.”

“I’ll match your ton and quote a _million._ But you’re right. We should move him.”

“Yeah, but _where?_ ”

Miles takes a moment to think before he puts the mask back on their unconscious friend, lifts hobo-imitation-Parker like he’s nothing but a light sack of potatoes, and positions him into the fireman’s carry over his shoulder. He says, “I know where we can go but you ain’t gonna like it, fam.”

.

.

.

 **Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Girls** is such a misleading name for this degenerate den of sin, seething to the brim with all sorts of seedy characters. 

If Tony thought that the underground subway system had bad smells, it’s got _nothing_ on the horrible stench of piss, vomit, hard liquor and blood. He’s constantly stuck between being really pissed at Miles for bringing them there, and using most of the energy he’d need to lecture the younger Alpha to focus on not barfing all over the place.

No one seems to bat an eye or looks curious about the fact that Miles is heaving around an unconscious masked man. They just get out of his way as he marches towards the bar.

Tony follows as closely as he can, trying to ignore all the lecherous and insidious stares and grins being aimed at him. It’s times like these that he hates his perfect bone structure and his athletic figure because he is _not_ fond of the attention it’s getting him.

Some fat, bald guy with a long beard decides he wants to get handsy, and he gropes Tony’s ass.

But before Tony can yell or throw a fist, Deadpool is there in a blur, grabbing the Alpha by the nards and twisting so hard that the Alpha gives this high-pitched whine that almost defies the sound barrier. 

Deadpool, dressed in a set of Spider-Man pajamas, reeking of alcohol, very calmly states, “Now that’s no way to treat such a pretty Omega. I’m thinking maybe you couldn’t afford that vasectomy and this is your way of reaching out, right? Hoping someone will come along and castrate you, save the rest of the world from having to deal with any shitty spawn you’d sire. That’s really generous and considerate. And hey, times are tough.”

The Alpha whimpers as Deadpool slowly unsheathes one of his katana swords.

“I’ll be more than happy to liberate you from that pesky little STD infested, really below average wang of yours, you know, sweet like,” Deadpool purrs, making even the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck stand up as the Alpha tries to beg through the pain. “No? Well, say the magic words, Fat Gandalf. You know them.”

“I’m sorry,” the Alpha quickly whimpers, looking at Tony with true remorse. “I’m so sorry. I will - I’ll never - I shouldn’t have - I’m trash! Horrible, horrible garbage!”

“And we’re done!” Deadpool exclaims, releasing him as all the other Alphas in the bar sigh in relief and sympathy. “Not so bad, right?” he asks Tony with a wide smile. “I’m a softie, to be honest. Always cry during those emotional commercials.” He laughs.

The Alpha laughs hoarsely, dropping his guard.

Then, suddenly, the air switches and Deadpool takes advantage of that by shoving the Alpha face down onto a nearby pool table so hard that he breaks his nose. Deadpool has the barrel of his gun pressed to the guy’s temple before any of them can blink, cocking it very slowly. “Just to be clear, I’m also super hard. All the time. Which you will come to find out in the worst of ways if you ever put your hands on any Omega who did not give clear consent beforehand.” He pauses to think about what he said. “That came out wrong … or did it?” He blows the Alpha an air kiss before holstering his gun.

The Alpha totally pisses himself before he flees the bar.

“Holy crap, please have all my babies!” Miles begs, looking at Deadpool in reverential awe.

Deadpool has that wide-eyed look of wonder and confusion before he flushes and tries to wave it off.

“Thank you,” Tony says when he finds his voice to speak. “I - you didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes I fucking did, buttercup,” Deadpool insists, sounding gravely serious. “Alphas like him, they don’t learn unless you make an impression. I won’t stand for them getting handsy on you while I’m here to say something about it.”

Tony finds he can’t really respond to that, floored. He’s starting to realize that he’s had Wade pegged all wrong this whole time. He makes the decision then and there to be better.

“So,” Wade sings as he skips over to the bar to finish his drink. “What brings you two cuties to my neck of the woods? And with a body, no less! Though, I’m more of a chocolate and flowers type of Omega. I’ll take your humble offerings nonetheless.”

Miles clears his throat, going a little red as he says, “This isn’t - I mean I’d love to give you - this is - could we go somewhere private for a moment?” he stammers.

Wade looks deeply amused but fond as he nods. He gives the squirrely looking guy behind the bar a signal, and the Beta man juts his chin to a door off to the side. Wade slams back the rest of his drink before he stands, clapping his hands together to say, “My good friend Weasel is giving us free roam of his office. Follow me.”

Fifteen minutes later, after many shouts of confusion, and the fuss of using hobo-imitation-Parker’s web slinger to tie him to a nearby chair after unmasking him again, Wade is brought up to speed.

“He’s a Skrull. He’s totally a Skrull. He’s gotta be!” Wade insists.

“What the hell is a Skrull?” Tony counters.

“Well that’s - okay, yeah, you wouldn’t know. That’s top-tier classified information,” Wade clarifies. “You wouldn’t believe the number of things the World Global Security is hiding from us measly humans.”

“The world who what now?” Miles repeats with a frown.

“Oops,” Wade says with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, you’re not supposed to know about them either.” He shakes off that line of thinking and continues, “Look, the point here is that, yes, there are multiple versions of Peter Parker out there, but they are _out there_ and not here. This guy either got freaky with some plastic surgery or he’s a Skrull.”

A voice suddenly clears their throat.

Tony, Miles, and Wade all freeze, turning to see a very annoyed and irritated looking hobo-imitation-Parker.

“Hi. You, uh … anyone of you wanna tell me what’s going on?” Parker waits and sighs when he’s met with nothing but bewildered stares. “I’m not a Skrull by the way. Just gonna throw that out there.”

“That’s what a Skrull would totally say,” Wade mumbles childishly.

Parker rolls his eyes. “Good to see some things never change. How ya doing there, Wade?” he asks.

“Oh my gosh, he knows me!” Wade squeals in delight. “Oh this Skrull is _good_.”

Miles interjects by deepening his voice and puffing out his chest to intimidate the older Omega. “Why do you look like Peter Parker?”

“That’s because I _am_ Peter Parker. And quit it with the voice kid, I already know what you actually sound like.”

Miles deflates and Wade gives him a consoling pat on the top of his head, saying, “I thought you were very, very scary. And sexy.”

Tony ignores them both to add, “Peter Parker died.”

Parker sighs, long and hard, then begins, “Alright people, let’s do this one last time.” He makes sure he has everyone’s attention before he continues, “My name is Peter B. Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for the last 22 years, I thought I was the one and only ... Spider-Man. What a day this has been to find out the complete opposite. I'm pretty sure you know the rest.”

Tony, Miles, and Wade just stare at him.

Parker mutters something to himself, shaking his head as he keeps going, “Not enough to convince you? Okay. Well. I saved the city, fell in love, I got married, saved the city some more, maybe too much, my marriage got testy, made some dicey money choices. Just a disclaimer: do  _not_ invest in a Spider-themed restaurant. Anyway, moving on.” He clears his throat. “So, yeah. Then like 15 years passed, blah, blah, blah, super boring. I broke my back, a drone flew into my face, I buried Aunt May. My Alpha -” His voice kind of gets wobbly with emotion before he presses on. “My wife and I split up. But I handled it like a champ. Totally wasn’t crying in the shower on a daily basis.”

Tony and Miles share quick dubious looks with each other but Wade is hanging on Parker’s every word.

“I’m tough, and I’ve been through it all. Cause you know what? No matter how many times I get hit, I always get back up, and I got a lot of time to reflect and work on myself.” Parker gets this dreamy but sad look in his eyes suddenly. “Did you know that seahorses - that they mate for life? Could you imagine a seahorse seeing another seahorse and then making it work?”

Wade is actually taking notes and Tony rolls his eyes, smacking the _My Little Pony_ notepad out of his hand, ignoring the protesting and offended noises the younger Omega makes.

Miles just makes a gesture to Parker, urging him to continue.  

Parker does exactly that by saying, “Yeah, so. She wanted kids … and it scared me. I'm pretty sure I broke her heart. Flash forward, I'm in my apartment doing push-ups, doing ab crunches, getting strong - you know, real warrior type regimens.”

Miles and Tony share another quick dubious look with each other.

“And then that’s when this weird thing happened. And I gotta say, weird things happen to me a lot. But this was _really_ weird. Some kind of portal opened up, and I was seeing this web of all the multiverses entangled together before it sucked me through and then spit me out on the other side.” Parker shrugs as best as he can under his bondage. “You see, I was in New York, but things were different. Also, I was dead … and blond. I was kind of perfect. It was like looking in a mirror. Well, in a ... different, sort of ‘attractive funhouse’ kinda way. And, well, I have a feeling that the thing that brought me here, was the thing that got him killed. You wanna know what happened next? Me too.”

“Eh, it was a good beginning, solid middle, but the ending was weak,” Wade decides as he hops onto the front edge of Weasel’s desk and swings his bunny slipper covered feet. 

Tony lets all the information settle before he asks, “When did you get here?”

“Same night your Spider-Man died, I’m guessing,” Parker replies. “Why?”

Tony looks at Miles and the younger Alpha seems to understand perfectly well what Tony is implying. Miles says, “So, yeah, uhh … there was this thing that happened that night …”

Parker (as well as Wade) listen as Miles gives the complete rundown of what happened to him and what happened to the now deceased Peter Parker from this universe, and all the events that led up to this very moment.

Miles says, “He was supposed to teach me everything he knows. Maybe, uh - maybe _you_ can do that.”

“Yeah … no thanks. That’s gonna be a hard pass for me, little buddy.” Parker stands and suddenly the web that was holding him just falls away. “Okay, I will teach you one lesson - webbing? Yeah. That has it's own time limit on how long the adhesive stays, and as you can see, we are well past that, so I’ll be going.”

“Going?” Miles exclaims, leaping towards the door to use his body to block it. “You can’t leave! We have to stop Queenpin.”

“No,” Parker drawls, looking bored and so done with all of this. “ _We_ don’t have to do anything because there is no we! The we in this scenario is solely just me, and I’m gonna go find that stupid Super-Collider and get it to spit me right back to where I came from. Right back to the universe where I can _handle_ the problems there.”

“Oh yeah, by the looks of things, you’re doing great with that,” Tony mutters and fixes his face into something innocent when the older Omega turns to glare at him. “With great power -”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Parker immediately protests. “I’m done, you hear me? Absolutely finished.” He turns back to Miles, who is stubbornly holding his position. “Get outta the way, kid. I don’t wanna have to move you.”

“With great power,” Miles insists. “Comes great responsibility. You know what’s at risk here, and you’ll just, what? Walk away? Leave us to fend for ourselves? Are you really that morally hard up that you’d do such a thing and not think twice? I don’t care _what_ universe you’re from - the Peter Parker I know would never turn his back like that. Not on New York. Not on his  _family_. Never.”

“Well maybe that just means you don’t know all us 'Peter Parkers' like you thought. Move.” Parker squares his shoulder and stands his ground. “Be smart about this, _Alpha_.”

Miles flinches, looking crushed by the cold, blatant dig at his classification and then he’s moving out of the way so Parker can storm out.

Weasel’s office is doused in uncomfortable silence.

“What a dick. I’d hate to see him in a _bad_ mood,” Wade mutters, hopping off the desk and moving to console Miles. “Hey, look at me. You’re not like that, okay? He had no right to call you by your designation that way. You’re all that’s good and bright and fucking ivory roses in this world, Miles. Don’t let anyone ever make you think differently, baby boy.”

Miles nods in the handhold Wade has with his hands cradling the younger Alpha’s face. 

Wade clears his throat and backs away as he starts releasing pheromones. “Sorry, ignore that,” he quickly says.

Miles blinks before he grins. “It’s like that, huh?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows as he responds in kind.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Wade backs up even further as Miles gives chase. He leaps to the other side of Weasel’s desk so that it’s between them. “I am bad news for you. You need an Omega that’s not practically at death’s door and could give you as many fucking gorgeous babies as you deserve.”

“You seem to think that you know exactly what I want,” Miles says patiently, making no move to corner Wade. “Which, you know, you don’t because then you’d realize that I want _you_. Not what you think is the right Omega for me.”

Tony makes a face and rolls his eyes at their antics. “Yeah, so, can we table this little … _whatever_ it is you guys are doing right now and focus up on our next plan of action? Our best lead just stormed out.”

Miles eyes Wade a little bit longer, saying, “We’re so not done with this convo, shortie.” Then he turns to face Tony while Wade squirms in the background. He says, “I’m not giving up. Just … let me talk to Peter. I’ll get him to help us.”

Tony is very doubtful of that but he keeps these thoughts to himself. He says, “Fine. Let me know how that goes. I gotta jet, though. We’ll talk later?”

Miles nods and moves to walk him out while Wade trails them at a distance, still silent and reflective.

.

.

.

“Can I stay over the rest of the weekend?” Peter pleads, cupping his hands together as if he’s praying, widening his eyes when Tony comes to collect him from Dora’s. “Eddie and I are totally cool now. We’re not even fighting anymore.”

“You were fighting?”

Peter verbally fumbles, realizing he shared way too much.

Tony snorts and can’t help but find the kid loveable with all of his brutal honesty. He’s got that bad from Steve. He says, “Fine, but understand that I’m only saying yes because I know Dora is going to stay on top of you both the whole time.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Peter exclaims, practically leaping into Tony’s arms to hug him tightly before bouncing back and sprinting off to tell Eddie the good news.

Tony finds Dora in the kitchen with the latest edition of the Daily Bugle. The front page is a tasteful ‘In Memorium’ to Spider-Man. “So, I guess you already know what’s up with the boys,” he says.

Dora hums between a few sips of her coffee before she lowers the cup and the paper in her hands. “Yes.”

“Say, doc … correct me if I’m wrong but I could have sworn Peter just said they’d been fighting - were they fighting?”

“Oh, big time but you know how kids are. One minute its fists, the next minute its hugs. They’re in the hugging phase. They’ve even started building a nest together,” Dora says with fond amusement.

Tony scoffs and sits down at one of the counter bar stools for the kitchen island across from Dora. He politely turns down her offer of coffee, not wanting to tempt fate. “I can run home and grab him some clothes and drop them back off,” he says.

Dora waves him off. “He can borrow some from Eddie until we go shopping tomorrow. To be honest, I’m relieved that Peter will join us. I have a hard time as is getting Eddie to go with me so we can update his wardrobe.”

“That’s really generous of you,” Tony compliments. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to take Peter shopping for clothes myself. You’d really be helping me out here. Just let me know how much the bill was and I’ll pay you back.”

“Whatever for, Tony? I may work for a monster but I’m paid well. Consider it a gift,” Dora insists as she rubs at her face tiredly.

Tony has noticed the deep bags under her eyes. “How are you?” he asks.

Dora smiles bitterly from behind her hands before she drops them and simply shrugs. “I can’t go one night without dreaming about that dreadful place I found Gwen in. Sometimes I dream that I didn’t make it in time. Sometimes it’s Eddie in her place. Sometimes it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says quietly, feeling guilty.

“Ah,” Dora laughs humorlessly and shrugs again. “Nothing a few rounds of intense therapy can’t mend. Don’t worry too much. I’m happy I intervened, but it does weigh on me about all the ones I left behind.”

“Well, not sure if you know this but Gwen was released back into the care of her family. Miles said they took her home this morning and are currently helping her settle. We’re supposed to go visit her tomorrow. I’ll let you know how that goes.”

“Please do,” Dora replies with a grateful smile. “If she seems - if she’s willing to come forward, it would do a lot of good.”

“Yeah, Miles and I have talked about easing it into the conversation,” Tony goes on to say. 

Dora nods before she says, “How was the funeral? The coverage was pretty impressive.”

Tony recounts his personal experience and ends up staying for dinner when Dora orders pizza. 

They don’t really see Peter and Eddie until the pizza is delivered, but that’s only because they come out to collect a box each before hoarding it back to the nest they’re building in Eddie’s walk-in closet.

Tony finds it as amusing as Dora does, but he’s secretly glad that Peter has someone his age to bond with it. That’s more than he got growing up.

Eventually, it’s late enough that Tony knows he needs to head back, even if it’s to an empty house. He says his goodbyes to Dora, and then to Eddie and Peter, who pop their heads out of Eddie’s walk-in for the few seconds Tony stands in the doorway of Eddie’s bedroom. 

He takes his leave and catches a cab home to work on Peter’s time-watch and a few other projects before he’s forced to pause it all to go to bed. He’s so utterly tired that he can barely keep his eyes open and he still finds coffee offensive so he has no choice but to curl up in the mound of pillows where he and Peter have been sleeping.

Little Ben works on Steve’s birthday project at Tony’s direction, humming a pleasant song that helps Tony drift into the oblivion of sleep.

.

.

.

 **areyoufalconserious:** hey tony it’s sam  
**areyoufalconserious:** my goof of a husband wants you to know that his flight is due to land in NY about 5pm tomorrow  
**areyoufalconserious:** he would have told you himself but he dropped his phone in the toilet like the champion he is  
**areyoufalconserious:** he’s currently getting a replacement but he wanted to give you the heads up of when to expect him

.

.

.

Saturday morning finds Tony on the next ferry out to Staten Island, reminiscing about the last time he was on one. The pleasantness of the trip that he enjoyed the first time around doesn’t last as soon as the ferry is halfway out, navigating through choppy waters. That's because Tony is struck by the worst case of motion sickness that’s he's ever had and it's honestly confusing to him. 

He wonders if it’s because he left the house with an empty stomach but he spends the rest of the ferry ride indoors, nursing some lukewarm water he bought from a nearby vendor, hoping it drowns out the persistent nausea he feels.

Tony’s relieved when they make dock, and catches the next cab he can hail to the Carter Residence. 

Sharon answers the door when he knocks, her cat Wednesday perched across her shoulders, and leads him directly to the back patio where she has a spread of ginger-flavored food and drinks waiting at a picnic table. She says, “I wasn’t sure what you might like, so I had Ma kinda get everything. She’s at work, otherwise she would have joined us.”

“Oh, okay,” Tony laughs, a little overwhelmed and confused. 

Sharon must sense that because she explains, “Ginger is best for morning sickness.”

Tony frowns. “How’d you know I have -” He pauses when her words catches up with him and he flushes. “Oh. Oh god, no. No, Sharon, it’s just, uh. It’s motion sickness. Not - not _that_. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Sure,” Sharon says with a diplomatic shrug. “It’ll help with nausea either way.”

Tony decides to leave it alone and not question it because Steve’s mentioned Sharon has this special gift of hindsight that the Alpha insists is best to just roll with. So that’s what Tony does as he sips his ginger tea and finds that, yes, it is dissolving his nausea issues. He takes a keen interest in the spicy apple ginger chew candies while he works on rehabbing Pugsly.

Sharon chats mildly about how her summer is going so far, pausing once in a while to ask him questions about what he’s doing while she watches closely. At some point, the younger Beta leaves to make them some cucumber, cream cheese, and jalapeno sandwiches.

Tony can’t say he’d necessarily ever try such an odd combination like that but Sharon insists. Yeah, and it’s, wow - after that first bite, he’s sold, just on the zestiness of the mixed spices alone. He packs away four sandwiches before he knows it and only taps out because his tongue is literally begging him to, pulsing with the kind of pleasant heated pain only eating spices can bring.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Sharon says when he compliments her culinary endeavors. “I usually eat it without peppers but I thought you might enjoy the addition. You strike me as someone that derives pleasure from controlled piquant flavors.”

Tony snorts as he concentrates on putting the last finishing touches on Pugsley. “Lately I’ve just been really into it, I guess. Maybe it’s my body’s way of replacing the gap that not being able to drink coffee has left behind. It certainly wakes me up and puts tears in my eyes like a piping hot cup of caffeine usually would.”

“The body knows what it needs more than the soul hosted in the body does,” Sharon recites like some sage professor while she eyes her cat Wednesday, who is napping in a sunspot on the wooden deck of the patio. She turns forward to face him. “Hey, Uncle Tony, do you want kids?”

Tony fumbles with Pugsley at the unexpected question. He clears his throat and tries to recover. “Well, yes, one day.”

“You and Uncle Steve will have beautiful children,” Sharon decides and Tony has to laugh at how certain she sounds. “I’ll babysit whenever you want. And I won't even charge for it.”

Tony smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind, kiddo. Thanks.”

Sharon nods but doesn’t return his smile, as she's prone to do. She says, “There’s a monster running around the back alleys of New York City.”

“Is there?” Tony replies absentmindedly, concentrating more on rebooting Pugsley to test the upgrades he’s added. “How do you figure that, short stack?”

“Twitter,” Sharon simply says. “People have been tweeting about it. It’s eating stray dogs and cats. They keep calling it the Cryptid of New York City, but I don’t think it’s from here.”

“No?” Tony probes, still humoring her.

“Hunting patterns don’t fit. It’s eating like it’s confused. Like it doesn’t know what it’s natural prey is supposed to be but it’s trying to figure it out. That’s not gonna end well because after small animals there’s just larger game. You should be careful.”

“Okay,” Tony says and snaps the final piece in place as Pugsley lights up. “Here, I think that’s going to solve the battery problem, and plus, I’ve added a few other features. Pugsly can now sense and respond to emotion, as well as sing and initiate the anti-gravity feature to help with how taxing getting around furniture or up and down the stairs can be. Yeah, don't look so surprised. I noticed the scuffs and abrasions.”

Sharon looks absolutely delighted. She cradles Pugsly close as it chirps, vibrates, and starts singing a joyful melody. “Thank you, Uncle Tony. I love it.”

Tony smiles before glancing at the face of his phone. “Yikes, I gotta get going. But please let me know if there are any other problems, okay?”

Sharon nods and walks him to the door. She presses the bag of spicy apple ginger chews candy in his hands and says, “For the trip back.”

“Thank you,” Tony says and he really means it.

“Hey, Uncle Tony,” Sharon calls, just as he’s about to climb into the cab he’s hailed. She waits until she’s got his attention. “The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”

Tony huffs, growing all the more fond of this eccentric kid, and replies, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sharon waves and keeps watch until they can no longer see each other.

.

.

.

“You’re late,” Miles croons with a teasing grin as Tony approaches him with haste.

“I know, I know. I had a prior thing,” Tony explains as they stand out on the landing of the Stacy Residence in Queens. “Also, don’t hate me, but I can only stay for about an hour. I’ve got - my lawyer is flying in and I have to meet him so we can talk about some contracts I’m considering.”

“Contracts? Like a job thing?”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Tony vaguely explains. “When everything’s signed, I’ll tell you what it’s all about. Right now, I can’t really speak about it until things are official.”

“Damn, I’m super curious now,” Miles complains half-heartedly as he rings the doorbell.

A shaky, and pale-faced Mrs. Stacy answers the door. She swallows and says, “I’m so sorry, boys. You’ll have to come back next week. Gwen is not fit for any company at present.”

“Is everything okay?” Miles asks, looking deeply worried and concerned.

Mrs. Stacy swallows and hesitates like she wants to say something but decides against it when there is a heavy thump and growl coming from the second floor. She flinches and says, “Everything is fine. Gwen’s just - not completely herself yet. Please come back next week. I’m sorry you came out all this way. I’ll let Gwen know you’ve asked after her.”

Miles opens his mouth to press but the Beta woman is already slamming the door shut. He exhales in frustration. “Can’t believe this,” he mutters, jamming his hands in his pockets before he turns away and starts descending the stone steps. “She knew we were coming and she ain’t even try and warn us not to.”

“She looked a little preoccupied,” Tony points out as they walk up the street with no clear destination in mind. “Maybe she forgot.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Miles faintly agrees as they stop at the next crosswalk to wait for the signal. “I dunno, like. You heard that weird noise too, right? My spidey sense went nuts for a moment after it happened.”

Tony does find that curious. “We can try and text her. See if she responds?”

Miles shrugs. Then, changing the subject, he says, “I guess I can go and meet up with Wade so we can track down Peter.”

“You’re still sure he’s going to come around?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Miles swears with a wry smirk. “I can be pretty persuasive when I put my mind to it.” 

Tony doesn’t doubt him. Still, he says, “Well good luck with that.”

“Thanks. Same to you and your mystery contracts. Which I am still super curious about so you better be calling me the second the ink dries.”

Tony laughs with an agreeable nod and they part ways.

.

.

.

Riley seems a bit hurried when Tony meets him at the airport. After they hail a cab and head to his hotel in Lower Manhattan, he explains, “Sorry, I know my energy is a little aggressive right now, but we don’t have much time before the Midnight Birth.”

“Midnight Birth?” Tony repeats, confused. “Who’s having a baby?”

Riley laughs at the mix-up and clarifies, “Sorry, that’s on me. It’s lawyer-speak for any heir-apparent contracts that are negotiated after sunset and signed before sunrise.”

“Oh,” Tony says and huffs. “That must be old century terminology.”

“You’re not wrong,” Riley confirms. “It was coined during the Civil War. It only survives amongst the judicial crowd.”

Tony finds that intriguing and ends up probing the Beta for more interesting facts for the rest of the car ride, and Riley happily answers, never once seeming annoyed or bothered by them. 

When they get to the hotel, Riley checks in and they take the elevator up. After they enter his room, he dumps his luggage on his king-sized bed and goes rooting around for his journal and a pen. Then he motions for Tony to join him in the living room.

Tony sits beside him as Riley shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

Riley meets his gaze with hawk-like focus, poising his pen above his journal at the ready, and asks, “What are you hoping to gain out of this?”

Tony pauses, thinks, and then says, “My Agency - just to start …”

**THREE HOURS LATER**

Tony and Riley find themselves in the lobby of Hammer Industries after sunset, waiting for Ms. Everhart to come down and retrieve them. She greets them warmly and gives them a pair of special visitor’s badges before taking them up to the meeting room where negotiations will be conducted.

Hammer is waiting with seven of his lawyers in a sprawling conference room that has a small buffet of finger foods off to the side. Hammer stands when Tony enters the room, while his lawyers follow to stand as well, and the Alpha goes out of his way to shake Riley’s hand with a wide smile.

Tony sits down and finds it weird how everyone else follows only after. 

Hammer notices his reaction and laughs, pleased. He says, “You better get used to that, little prince. You’re about to be the second most important person in the company.”

“Well that’s generous of you to let me take your spot, right after Ms. Everhart,” Tony coolly replies.

There’s a loud snort of laughter from outside of the office.

“Stop eavesdropping, Christine!” Hammer calls with a smitten grin.

There’s a beat of silence before Ms. Everhart appears, looking unruffled and immaculate as ever. She says, “Of course not, goodness me. I was merely lingering to be sure there wasn’t anything else you needed.”

“Nope, I think we’re good here,” Hammer remarks, nodding at his lawyers who nod back. “You can take off. Thank you, Ms. Everhart.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Hammer,” Ms. Everhart replies with a warm look before she exits.

Hammer’s gaze lingers towards the door, even long after Ms. Everhat has left. Then he’s clearing his throat and smoothing a hand down his silk tie as he straightens. “Alright, Anthony. Meet my team. As you can see, I’ve got a lawyer for every day of the week.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Now, I’m sure you’ve got demands. Let’s see them. I very much would like to see them,” Hammer goes on to say, ignoring the eyeroll he gets when he makes grabby hands at Riley.

Riley pulls out Tony’s list and slides it over. “My client will not be agreeing to any terms unless you can agree to his first,” he states firmly.

The list gets passed down the row of lawyers. All of them immediately protest most of what’s found there, raising their voices over each other to insist on a redaction of most of what Tony is asking for.

Hammer doesn’t even skim the list for more than a second before he says, “Deal.”

Tony splutters. “You - you didn’t even _look!_ ”

Hammer snatches the list up and makes a great show of really eyeballing the paper with obnoxious thoughtful sounds he's only playing up for the rest of the room before he puts it down. Then he says, “Deal.”

Tony makes a sound of exasperation. “What is even the _point_ of having your lawyers?” 

The lawyers in question look to Hammer for the answer to that question as well with glares of frustration.

Hammer merely shrugs. “I always knew I’d say yes to whatever you wanted to ask for. I’d move Heaven and Earth for you, little prince. But I had to at least make it look like I was gonna give you a hard time, you know, so you didn’t get the idea that I’m a total pushover who already guessed what you’d want and got it for you because you’ve totally got me wrapped around your finger. No, not that. Not that at all, of course.”

“Oh my god, you’re hopeless,” Tony groans, sinking his face into his hands. 

“Eh,” Hammer replies, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Tony drops his hands so they can rest them flat against the table. “Wait, what do you mean you 'already got what I wanted'?” he asks.

Hammer pushes this thick manilla envelope he'd been hiding in the inner pocket of his suit jacket across the table.

Tony opens it with a frown and then stills in shock. He quickly dumps the contents on the table. It’s all of his Agency identification and a familiar chrome earpiece. He picks it up with shaky hands, pressing it into his right ear. “FRIDAY?”

“ _Boss?_ ” FRIDAY asks tentatively. 

Tony has to quickly blink past the tears trying to build up at the sound of her voice. “I-I’m here,” he replies hoarsely, swallowing down the wad of emotion that tries to well up in his throat. He looks to Hammer and says, “Thank you. You - this - how.” He pauses and swallows again. “You know what? I don't care. Thank you.”

“Heaven and Earth, Annie,” Hammer repeats with an affectionate half-smile packed with pride. “I take care of my own. If you become my heir, I’ll always do everything I can to support you. I’ll be a better father than my old man was to me, and your old man was to you. I just need you to give me that chance.”

Tony meets his gaze with an unwavering one of his own. Then he says, “What if I had asked for world domination?” he asks, just to ease some of the emotional tension.

Hammer huffs. “I think we should all be glad you didn’t. I would’ve been prepared to do it, god help us. I’ve hypothetically got a murderbot - don’t ask me why, just know that I do - and he definitely could have gotten the job done.”

“You - you have a _murderbot?_ ”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

Tony makes an exasperated sound.

Riley interjects, “Do you mind if we can continue with the proceedings? I’m really jetlagged.”

“Of course!” Hammer crows and nods to one of his lawyers, who hand Riley a thick contract, which he starts skimming immediately. “As you’ll see, I’ve combined the employment contract and the heir-apparent into one single document, as I think both are entitled to each other and not mutually exclusive given the circumstances.”

Riles makes an impressed sound as he keeps reading with a single nod, saying, “This is airtight.”

“Is that good?” Tony asks quietly.

Riley huffs out a quick laugh. “That’s very good,” he promises. “Especially since it has everything to do with being the most favorable to you and the security of your future. Let me read through the rest and then I’ll let you sign it.”

Tony nods, trusting him.

When Riley finishes, he says, “Okay, here's what I got from all this: in short, the succession will fall to you, no matter if Hammer has natural born children. You would still get the first of everything and inherit the company. Any and all inventions, projects, or intellectual property will always be retained in your custody. He’s not asking for any of the profits or the branding. He’s nearly giving you power of attorney over your own inheritance. This will also absolve you of the legal blood ties you have to your parents and the Stark name. They would no longer have a case against you because Hammer would legally be your sire, overruling your father’s signature claim on your birth certificate since this has both yours and Mr. Hammer’s signature on a single document which makes it more powerful - a binding contract. Mr. Hammer's legal team will then work around the clock to wrap up any and all pending legal cases on your behalf, and you or Steve wouldn't even have to be present or think about it at all. This includes, but not limited to, how far-reaching Mr. Stark's harassment has been in regard to your living situation and your jobs. They plan to countersue and rectify those issues, as well as anything related you'd like to bring to their attention. All Mr. Hammer asks is for the free reign of about ninety days to groom and tailor your introduction to the public as his heir-apparent. I think you should sign it.”

Tony does without hesitation.

Hammer barely waits until the ink has dried on the paper before he presses a button that releases blue confetti and balloons and a banner that says ‘It’s a Boy!’ in sparkly letters.

Tony shoots Hammer an exasperated look as he quickly rounds the table to pull Tony to his feet so they can take a shared selfie in front of the banner. 

Hammer coos over the picture before his thumbs go flying over the screen of his phone. “I’m going to send that to my PR team so they can post it to my private social media accounts with the hashtah ‘it’s a boy’.”

“Please don’t,” Tony complains, going red.

“And that is done and cannot be undone,” Hammer remarks distractedly before he puts his phone away. “You know, now that I think about it, they’re now your PR team too. They’ll probably want to sit down with you to discuss your public image and all that good stuff. I do not envy those days, phew. Say goodbye to sixteen hours of your life. They are _very_ good at what they do but that also makes them _very_ thorough.”

Tony doesn’t like the sound of that at all but knows that it’s a given and a must that comes with the lifestyle of being rich and famous. He’s going to have to prepare Steve for the next 90 days as well.

“Also! I want you to have a bodyguard,” Hammer goes on to say. He spots the mutinous look on Tony’s face and adds, “That’s non-negotiable by the way, little prince. As many friends as I have, there are just as many enemies. You pick a bodyguard or I will. Either way, you’re getting one.”

“I’ll pick,” Tony insists, annoyed. 

“Fine by me,” Hammer agrees as he moves to exit. “Oh, and I also want you to get a physical with my, well,  _our_ private medical staff to make sure you are tip-top. You’ve got forty-eight hours for both. Happy Hunger Games.”

Tony splutters in outrage, halfway to complaining that it’s not enough time but Hammer manages to artfully evade him. He lets out a frustrated sigh and says, “FRIDAY, do me a favor and start the clock.”

“ _Sure thing, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY chimes and, god, it felt good to hear the beautiful Scottish lilt to her voice again. “ _Counting backward from forty-eight hours._ ”

“Let’s get you home,” Tony murmurs before he turns to follow Riley to the elevators so they can ride it down to the lobby. 

They say their goodbyes and part ways; Riley orders a rideshare and Tony hails a cab.

Tony gets home sometime around midnight, being stuck in a traffic jam because of some bad motor collision.

FRIDAY waits until they are safely inside Sarah's house before she asks, “ _What have I missed?_ ”

Tony catches her up to speed until he literally falls into a short nap with the earpiece still in his ear. He wakes up a few hours later to stumble his way down to bed after giving the earpiece over to Little Ben so he can help FRIDAY reconnect with all of Tony's software and devices.

.

.

.

**PRESENT DAY**

Tony feels something tickle and rub against the tip of his nose. He wrinkles said nose and bats it away, assuming it’s a fly. It happens agains and Tony grunts in annoyance, slapping a hand over his face, jolting when something cool presses into his cheek. He blinks sleepily and squints as he pulls his hand away, freezing when he sees a silver ring with intricate Gaelic sigils stretched around it on his ring finger.

“It’s a Rogers family heirloom, generations old. Ma stole it from my grandparents. She said something about how it was owed to her anyway to do as she pleased. And it pleased her to give it to me. Likewise, my first thought was putting it on you. It’s a good fit, right?”

Tony jumps with a startled yelp, sitting up nearly lightning fast as he clutches his chest and glares at a laughing Steve while his heart tries to batter itself out of his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve. Are you trying to kill me? Seriously, what’s going on? Am I sleeping? Is this a dream?”

“No, I’m really here,” Steve promises with a wide smile as his blue eyes twinkle and jump with mirth while he repositions himself on one knee. His side of the bond is drenched in goldfish oranges, cherry reds, and piglet pinks. “Kinda hurting my feelings here, sweetheart. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am!” Tony snaps, annoyed but still in disbelief. “I just - you didn’t have to be such a dick about it. Fuck.”

Steve goes on laughing.

Tony makes a frustrated sound and starts hurling every pillow within reach at Steve, who doesn’t even try to dodge any of them. That just makes Tony even more annoyed. “Oh my _god_. I hate you. Get out. Go away. You are not taking me seriously at all. This is so -”

“I think you should marry me.”

Tony stammers his way into silence as he really takes in what Steve is doing, on bended knee, looking at him with a determined smile. “You - I - what? Steve, what are you - what do you - we _are_ married.”

“Legally,” Steve concedes. “But we never got the chance to enjoy how things can be when it’s done organically. I think you should marry me because I really want to give you everything. You picked me before, I’m asking you to do it again.”

Tony inhales sharply, his entire face going warm. “I’ll always pick you, Steve,” he says quietly, crawling to the edge of the bed so he can hug Steve to his stomach. “Who else could even come close?”

Steve hums with his eyes closed, wrapping his arms around Tony’s legs as he rubs his nose back and forth against the middle of Tony's stomach. He pauses and then looks up at him with those ocean blue eyes of his, amusement and love dancing in them. “So is that a yes?”

Tony laughs as he looks down at him. “That’s a hell yes, you goof,” he confirms, flicking the middle of Steve’s forehead.

Steve makes a noise of complaint, rubbing his forehead before he presses the side of his face to the middle of Tony’s stomach again. “Knock it off with the domestic violence,” he grumbles.

“Eat me.”

“Oh yeah?” 

The hair on the back of Tony’s neck stands up but even by then it’s too late. He finds himself flat on his back, squirming under Steve’s relentless assault of massaging his fingers aggressively against all of Tony’s weak spots. Tony spits out shaky threats when he’s managed to verbally choke his way through loud yelps of laughter and squeals. 

They roll back and forth against the sheets and the pillows as Tony tries to crawl away with literal tears in his eyes, cursing Steve’s great ancestors with mirthful stutters and desperate gasps. 

Steve only lets up when Tony swears he’s going to throw up all over him if he doesn’t stop. He folds Tony in his arms and Tony closes his eyes as he presses a warm cheek to Steve’s collarbone, both of them trying to catch their breath while they lie on their sides.

“You’re awful,” Tony mumbles, even as he rubs his leg up and down Steve’s side affectionately, releasing a potent cloud of pheremones.

“So you say,” Steve replies distractedly as he presses his nose into the crown of Tony’s head. His side of the bond starts blooming in darker shades of reds and pinks. “Mm, why do you smell so sweet?”

“You’re asking me like I know what I smell like,” Tony replies as he curls in closer to his Alpha, savoring the deep richness of his scent, which he’s finding really enticing and calming, more so than usual. “You smell really good too.”

“Do I?” Steve sounds pleased to hear it. “You think it’s because we missed each other so much?”

Tony huffs and gives the side of Steve’s neck a small kitten lick that the older man rumbles in delight at. “Could be. All I know is that it’s really making me want to sit on you.”

“Sit on me?” Steve sounds confused, even as his side of the bond yields to more wine-colored hues. “Sit on me like how?”

Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s waist as his face heats up while he presses their bodies closer together with pointed closeness. “I mean I want to _sit_ on you,” he says with emphasis.

“Ah.” Steve smirks, slipping his hands up Tony’s shirt to paw and grope at the softness of his sides. “You wanna ride me, baby doll? Cause I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Tony shudders and nods hastily, shoving Steve onto his back so he can climb on top. It’s a struggle to get his clothes off while Steve keeps distracting him with kisses, making nothing but boiling hot desire pool into his gut like the warmest broth. 

Steve’s faring no better, wiggling underneath him to get rid of his own clothes in all the commotion, but never seeming to have the willpower to keep his mouth off of Tony’s for more than three seconds at a time.

The rest of it passes by in a blur, he’s virtually out of his mind with wanton desire by the time he’s sinking down on Steve’s cock, all sound escaping him as his body swallows up Steve’s girth. The descent is made effortless by how wet Tony is for it, god, he’s practically leaking slick, whimpering with how much he needs it.

Steve groans and whiteknuckles the soft curves of his hips as Tony sets a galloping pace they can both enjoy. A sheen of sweat breaks out over both of them while Steve closes his mouth over his chest, sucking and licking at his nipples in a way that makes Tony cry out.

Tony can feel his rhythm faltering as he gets a good grip of Steve’s shiny blond hair in both hands, shifting up and down on Steve’s cock as if he were on a seesaw, chasing after the knee weakening pleasure that makes him tremble all over while also trying to press his chest closer to Steve's ambitious mouth. 

“I can feel you tightening up,” Steve pants, pausing to groan as Tony’s hips stutter to a sudden stop. “You must feel really good. You can barely move now.”

Tony moans indignantly as Steve slaps his ass, making him clench down even harder on Steve’s cock, spasming and fluttering over his girth as he gets closer and closer to orgasm. He’s right though, as much as it annoys Tony to admit if only to himself. He’s literally turning into a puddle of pleasure and he can barely keep going long enough to reach the finish line. Every time he tries to, the pleasure gets so intense that he starts shaking and has to stop or it feels like he might pass out.

“Need me to help?” Steve offers quietly, mouth pressed right against Tony’s ear as he gives the appendage small nibbling bites that make Tony gasp, tighten up, clench, and then spasm over Steve's cock. “Mm, tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart. I’ll do it.”

Tony feels a flush break out across his body and his thighs tremble from the burn of riding Steve as enthusiastically as he was. God, he wants this so bad - missed the intimacy so much that he feels ravenously greedy for it. 

He kisses Steve again, desperate and demanding, and coils his tongue against Steve’s, gasping when Steve thrusts up roughly in a way that makes Tony break the kiss and scramble for purchase against Steve’s small shoulders.

Steve stamps a trail of wet, biting kisses up and down the warm line of Tony’s neck, making him keen and mewl.

“P-please, god, just - _please,_ ” Tony begs as Steve circles a thumb over the hardened bud of his left nipple, his hips jerk when Steve presses down firmly with just the slightest hint of nail. It sends sparks through his entire body. “Oh please, _please._  Give it to me, just please give it to me.”

Steve reaches up to pull him into a filthy kiss that puts him into a daze.

Before Tony can blink, Steve’s got him pressed into a mound of pillows to provide a cushion as he puts Tony flat on his stomach. He whines shakily when Steve covers him like a human blanket from behind and sinks inside of him oh so very slowly.

“Open your legs a little more, make some room for me - just a bit wider, come on - there you go, baby doll. That’s good, you’re so good. Perfect.” 

Tony groans, fingers grabbing the pillow under his chest for purchase as the world swims around him. He doesn't know what time it is, he’s been barely paying attention to anything other than Steve. He doesn't really care to know anything else at that moment because all that really matters is the naked press of their skin and how the wild strands of Steve's hair feel soft as it brushes his chin when Steve dips his head to kiss and nibble at his left shoulder.

Tony wishes he could see Steve again, every inch of him, god, this has been the longest week of his life without his Alpha. But there’s something about not being able to see Steve, only being able to feel him, that only enhances the intimacy.

It's too early to be considered dawn, Tony knows that much and then he suddenly knows nothing at all but the way that Steve’s steadies his hands against the curve of his hips, tilting them up just _so_ as he bears all his weight down into a slow grind that makes Tony whine breathlessly while his toes curl up and then fan out. 

Steve’s silhouette is only somewhat visible in the darkness of the room, the early morning light peeking through between the spaces of their closed blinds. He makes Tony shudder when he crosses one arm under Tony’s chest to grab the opposite shoulder for a steady grip he’s preparing to use for when he finally moves.

Tony squirms impatiently under him and on his cock when that doesn’t happen right away, and he can’t really move all that much to begin with since Steve has him sandwiched thoroughly between his own body and the pillows and the mattress. He thinks about complaining but gets distracted by lips brushing against one of his wet and flushed cheeks. He's crying and he didn't even realize it.

Steve blows gently over the area, rumbling deeply, pleased when it makes Tony tighten up, unable to hide how much the gentle intimacy is affecting him. He gives a single thrust, like he’s testing the angle and makes another sound of satisfaction when Tony gives a winded sob.

“That's it, baby doll. Let me hear you. Come on, it’s okay. You can say my name.” 

Tony laughs with breathless exasperation, recognizing that this is going to be one of those times where Steve is gearing up to bully him into a mind-blowing orgasm. He squirms impatiently again. “Tell you what,” he pants and lifts his hips to meet the next thrust, squeezing down until Steve groans. Another sheen of sweat breaks out across his body. “I'll be nice if _you_ say _mine_.”

Steve uses the grip he has on one of Tony’s shoulders to anchor a particularly sharp thrust he gives, chuckling deeply at Tony's answering cry. "You're a brat," he says before he dips down, leaning over Tony’s shoulder to sweep him up into a biting kiss with teeth and tongue and definite possessiveness. 

Tony inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut as his body thrums with Steve’s focused attention. He turns his head away in a show of rebellion and dodges Steve’s lips because he feels himself giving in to it. “I'm not a -” He pauses to swallow down a shaky groan as Steve sets a lucidly slow pace. “- not a brat. You -” He cries out when Steve shifts his hips just _so._  But then the bastard slows down like he has all the time in the world before he pulls out completely. “Oh don’t fucking _start_ with this bullshit - fuck, give it back - _ugh_ , I hate when you do this.”

“You’re not being nice, honey,” Steve croons sweetly against his ear, nibbling on the appendage before blowing gently. “Go back to begging,” he insists. “I liked that.”

“ _Ugh_ , Jesus. You're impossible - _fuck_ , oh, oh yes, oh oh oh _god -_ ” 

Of course Steve would wait to strike until Tony tries to bitch and complain before he sinks right back inside, starting on a stable pace that makes Tony lightheaded. And then _of course_ Steve slows down when Tony's nice and breathless and on the verge of coming. 

Tony whimpers and circles his hips, desperate for friction but Steve’s really got him pinned down. He both loves and despises it. “I hate you,” he swears, panting. 

“Oh yeah? Is that why you’re squeezing me so hard like you never want to let me go?” Steve whispers, dipping his tongue in his ear in the most filthy manner that Tony didn't even know Steve was capable of, and as Steve’s tongue retreats, he blows gently after it. 

Tony shivers again as his hips push up, his nails starting scratching and clawing into the bedsheets when Steve picks up the pace again. God, it's all so - he feels so - it's just so - good, god - _yes, yes, yes_ \- **no**. 

Tony gives a frustrated groan when Steve pulls out again, which turn into indignant yelps when Steve spanks him a few times. He can feel Steve press his smirk against his temple. God, this is driving him crazy, he needs more but he doesn’t want to have to beg for it, some stubborn part of him won’t let him.

Steve sinks inside of him again with a concentrated thrust, still taking his time, still drawing all the sounds he can get out of Tony’s quivering mouth. “Christ, look at you. Missed this.” He bears down on Tony and swivels his hips just to hear Tony cry out again. Then he pauses for a little bit.

Tony growls impatiently, ready to complain, but he's too distracted by the way Steve's sucking a slew of marks along the shoulder he isn’t already gripping. He whines and jerks his hips back into Steve's as Steve sucks, first gently and then brutally, adding teeth. “ _C'mon_ , c’mon, give it to me, c’mon. Fuck.”

“No,” Steve replies patiently when he pulls back and blows on the wet marks he left there just to get a wave of goosbumps to break out all over Tony’s flushed body. Then he uses his free hand to reach under Tony to play with his nipples until they harden, circling it with his thumb as he rolls his hips into Tony’s. 

Tony chokes down an answering sob and feels so utterly helpless and at Steve’s mercy. So naturally, the way he chooses to retaliate is by squeezing himself down on Steve as hard as he can. He can tell it's working because Steve’s pace loses noticeable rhythm. 

Steve makes a small sound when Tony clenches around him again. “S-stop that.” 

“Or what?” Tony challenges with a smirk, ignoring how winded he sounds as he clenches again, just to punish Steve for it. “I’m feeling really _neglected_ here.”

Steve’s mouth crashes into his with another biting kiss and he gives a punishing thrust that renders Tony incoherent long enough for him to say, "We feeling feisty now, Sweet Pea? You want something from me but you don’t want to ask for it, is that it?" He pauses long enough to emphasis with another gut-wrenching thrust and Tony chokes down an answering sob. “And when you don’t get your way, now I’m neglecting you, huh? Maybe that’s the thing though. We both know how much attention I pay you. If anything, it’s probably that I’ve been spoiling you too much.”

Tony refuses to say that Steve’s words turn him on and that he wants Steve to keep putting him in his place, anyway that Steve can give it to him. So he plays up the drama a bit more, wanting to know how far he can push his husband. “Well f-fuck you t-too,” he says but the threat is lost when he follows it with a whimper at another pointed thrust. 

“Sorry, honey," Steve says and he does not sound sorry at all. “But I'm fucking _you,_  good and proper. Must've been gone for too long if you’ve forgotten how good I can give it to you. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you.” He circles his hips again and picks up the pace and Tony can almost catch the gleam of his teeth as he smirks and does it again. “And you're gonna let me, aren't you? Because I think we both know that’s what you really want. You're gonna let me make love to you as much as I please. Long enough that you can't take it anymore. Long enough that you won't remember what it was ever like to not have me inside of you. All day - just - like - this, baby doll." He punctuates each word with a thrust. 

Tony gasps as his face warms from both pleasure and embarrassment because Steve’s words are filthy and ridiculous but true. “S-stop calling m-me baby doll. I'm n-not your - _oh fuck, oh fuck, yes_ -”

Steve laughs, sounding breathless but free. He presses his lips to the corner of Tony’s mouth. He starts talking, lips moving against Tony's skin, “You’ve gotta understand. You're not for everyone, Tony. You're just for me. That’s why I’ve always fantasized about putting a ring on your finger. Christ, you don’t know how many hours I’ve invested in focusing on that. But don’t worry, you will. Not right now though. I want you to just focus on comin’.” 

Tony is both touched and so honestly turned on that it hurts. Of course the moment he plans to throw in the towel and beg is the moment that Steve picks up his pace, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting, never slowing down once. 

Tony widens his mouth for a scream that Steve leans down to swallow as his thrusts become wild and quickened and perfect - so fucking perfect - _yes, yes, oh god, yes, yes_ \- and Tony is orgasming so hard that he nearly whites out; throat hot and sore from the twisted shout of Steve’s name he chants over and over during the heavy wave of contractions that take over his body, spilling onto the pillow and his belly until he can't even breathe. 

Steve exhales heavily with a sigh when he cums, like all he can do is breathe because there isn't much room to do anything else. He also gets really affectionate when his orgasm passes, pressing his lips to anything he can reach: Tony’s shoulder, his collarbone, his cheeks, his forehead, his ears, just anywhere.

Tony feels his face burn hotly and he ducks under Steve's gentle kisses, fussing in weak protests which Steve just goes right on and ignores. 

When they separate, just for a moment, Steve tugs him back over and hugs him close to his chest as their eyelids begin to droop. 

Tony feels like he's just ran the best marathon he's ever experienced, and that thought alone makes him laugh to himself as he snuggles up to his Alpha and bury himself into Steve’s side. 

A comfortable stretch of silence passes over them as they scent each other.

Steve breaks it by asking, “Where’s Peter?”

“Dora’s. He and Eddie are bosom buddies now or something. Hey, did you know that they -”

“Yeah, he mentioned it. Why, are they not -”

“Nope. Bosom buddies like I said,” Tony mumbles and tries to curl closer while the bond glimmers in rosy reds and bubblegum pinks between them. He laughs, feeling giddy and floaty. "You realize we left out fifty percent of the conversation just then, right? We literally are so gross that we can just guess accurately."

Steve huffs. "Can't say I mind it all that much."

Tony just hums. Then he sighs. “Yeah, so, anyway - he’s staying the weekend. I think Dora’s gonna drop him off later tonight. I'll have to text her to see.”

Steve just hums in acknowledgement.

Tony starts purring when Steve goes back to gently scenting him, and then Tony is realizing, while it’s happening, how much he missed this.

“You’re so good for me,” Steve murmurs affectionately, squeezing the back of Tony's neck to place a prominent scent mark there before combing his long fingers through Tony’s disheveled and damp hair. 

“And you’re so good _to_ me,” Tony volleys back, drifting. He feels hot, stick, and worn out, but oh so unmistakably gratified. It's like he's floating on a sea of endorphins; lazy and inappropriately euphoric. “M’gonna fall asleep now.”

“Fine by me,” Steve agrees tiredly with a yawn. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“You’re not meant for everyone either,” Tony mumbles, eyes firmly shut and halfway into being unconscious. “Just meant for me too.”

“Yeah?" There's definitely a smile in Steve's voice and his side of the bond explodes with sparkling reddish pinks and pinkish reds. "Good. I’m glad. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Tony huffs, subconsciously fiddling with the engagement band on his finger and lets himself fall into the deepest shallows of an endless dreamscape.


	30. YEAR 1: PART VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - this has been a good couple of weeks for me, not sure which one of ya'll sending me all this good karma but keep it up fam :)

Tony sighs as he begins regaining consciousness, not of his own free will, mind you, but to the sensation of something cool and damp being pressed against the proportionate slopes of his face. It’s the smell of roses that really give away what’s happening. When he peeks open a single eye, he finds Steve sitting on the edge of the bed with his body turned towards Tony, still as naked as he was when they went to sleep. His own face covered in an impressively smooth face mask, which he is putting on Tony currently.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Steve remarks, seeming to know that Tony is awake.

Tony rolls his eyes after opening them completely. “Is this going to be a thing with you? Doing things to my face while I sleep?” he grumbles despite being inexplicably fond of his husband - no, _fiancé._  He has a fiancé now. Steve is his fiancé. He wants to keep throwing the word around in his mind while he blinks and lifts his hand to stare at the beautifully designed ring on his ring finger.

Steve watches him with transparent amusement as he continues glazing Tony’s face with the soft reddish clay. “Having second thoughts?” he teases.

“Shut up, I just - I’m looking. I’m allowed to look,” Tony complains, face going slightly red. He’s grateful that it’s mostly covered, so it’s basically hidden from view. He drops his hand to rest on Steve’s naked thigh. “When do you want to get married?” he asks, even as his face heats up all the more at the question, but there are excited butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the same time. Married. They are going to get  _married._

Steve gifts him with a half-grin as his side of the bond blooms in oranges and pinks sparkling with red hues. “Don’t ask me. I’ll say tomorrow if pressed,” he warns, putting the final touches around Tony’s jawline.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Hey, getting married on birthdays is my thing, Rogers. Get your own,” and he sticks out his tongue for good measure because, you know, he’s mature like that.

Steve’s blue eyes dance with both mirth and desire. “Oh is it my birthday tomorrow?” he asks lowly.

Tony shifts his bare legs under the sheets so he can press his thighs together. God, he can’t help but get a little wet. His Alpha just has that effect on him. “Yeah, Apple Pie. I know you didn’t forget. I certainly didn’t for that matter.”

“No?” Steve wipes his fingers clean with the small hand towel that had been resting in his lap, all business-like as he caps Tony’s face mask. “You have anything special planned just for me, sweetheart?”

Tony bites his bottom lip as his mind is flooded with all sorts of indecent things. His hand twitches when he realizes it’s still resting dangerously high on Steve’s naked thigh. Now it's all he can think about, all he's aware of - that simple point of contact. “That - that depends,” he says lowly, playing along. “What would my fiancé like for me to do?”

Steve inhales sharply at that, his eyes darkening as much as his side of the bond does with desire. “Think I really like the sound of that,” he murmurs. “Say it again, honey. Just for me.”

Tony is definitely getting hard and wet. “What would my fiancé like to do for his birthday?” he repeats, biting his bottom lip as he ducks his gaze to slowly lift it again in a flirty gesture.

Steve rumbles in pleasure at seeing it, reaching out to free Tony’s bottom lip from his teeth. “Don’t bite your lip, sweetheart. That’s for me,” he playfully admonishes. “Now call me Daddy.”

Tony bursts out laughing, immediately sitting up as he grabs a pillow and starts battering a snickering Steve with it. “You animal! You absolute animal! I knew you had that kink! I fucking knew it. You had such a devious look in your eye that _one_ time I called you that. Which, by the way, was totally in an ironic inflection.”

Steve grabs the pillow from Tony’s hands and swats the side of Tony's chest with it before tossing it out of reach, even though Tony is still literally surrounded by a good amount of pillows. “You don’t really have to. I’m kidding,” he promises and he does look sincere.

“I respect your kinks, Steve,” Tony says with a small grin, scooting closer. “But, yeah, that one is … we’ll have to work up to that one, maybe. We could keep it for your birthdays only. I could … I’d be fine with that.”

“Yeah?” Steve looks more amused than turned on. “What about Christmas?”

Tony laughs and pinches his side. “You are incorrigible, I swear. We both know that Christmas is for _mutual kinks._ No, no, I’m serious. Stop laughing,” he complains, even as he’s laughing himself. 

“Okay, as much as I’m enjoying this conversation, let’s table it for bed tonight,” Steve says after he's calmed down, still sporting a happy grin. He reaches past Tony to grab the steaming cup of ginger tea waiting there. “Any reason my niece keeps insisting via text that I should make sure I’m plying you with ginger tea every morning?”

Tony blinks at that and cocks his head in wonder. “No clue. I think this is one of those things she knows better about than we do. I mean, I did visit her the other day with the worst case of motion sickness. She must think I’m prone or something.”

“Maybe,” Steve vaguely agrees and cups his free hand on the side of Tony’s neck. Tony assumes Steve is trying to scent mark him and he leans into it, but it turns out that the Alpha is just trying to gauge his temperature. “You’d tell me if you weren’t feeling well, wouldn’t you, baby doll?” he murmurs soothingly, as if he’s not trying to spook a small animal.

Tony scowls at him and pushes his hand away. “Of course. You’d be the first person I’d complain to and demand cuddles from,” he replies, a matter of fact.

Steve huffs with an endeared half-grin. “Good to know,” he supposes. “Anyway, I’m on my way out to meet up with Riley and Bucky’s mom to bail the meathead out from jail. He went ape shit on his old man when he got home a few hours before Ma and I did. He didn’t kill him, but George will never walk again. Or so I'm told by Becca.”

“Holy shit,” Tony breathes, both intrigued and baffled by this news. “Well, from what you’ve told me, the guy totally deserves worse than that.”

“Totally,” Steve agrees lightheartedly, but there’s something dark settled underneath his tone as his side of the bond dims into ivory whites and greys.

Tony squirms and tries not to dwell on how turned on he is when Steve sets his white hat to the side to indulge in his more spiteful and vengeful urges.

“Yeah, so.” Steve clears his throat to move on. “You wanna join me? We’re gonna regroup from the drama with Bucky’s Ma and his little sister at the Waffle House afterward for a celebratory breakfast.”

“Mm, I totally would but Hammer’s got me on this deadline to get a physical and a bodyguard,” Tony groans as the very thought comes back to him.

Steve huffs as his side of the bond begins to blister with curious pinks and reds. “That so? Seems like I missed a few things.” 

“Oh shit, yeah. Sorry. I totally meant to tell you that I signed with Hammer. I was so caught up with getting FRIDAY back, you know -”

“I get it, I get it,” Steve swears, cutting Tony off before he starts spiraling into a pit of guilt. “You got your best girl back. It makes sense that you were preoccupied. I’m not sore about it. Honest. You can tell me more about what happened later. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”

Tony pauses at that and thinks, yeah, he’s right. Howard, Maria, and Obadiah were all second thoughts now that he had Hammer covering him. For once, he feels truly free, and slightly giddy when he remembers he has all his Agency documentation too. He can live life on his own terms now.

“Okay, I’ve really gotta get going,” Steve announces as he presses the cup of ginger tea into Tony’s awaiting hands. “This is yours.” He stands and ducks down to kiss him. “Mm, that’s mine.”

Tony blushes and huffs in exasperation, returning the kiss.

Steve pulls away with a wink. “Feel free to join me in the shower,” he urges before disappearing into their bathroom.

Tony eventually does, after he’s finished his tea.

.

.

.

Tony throws on a simple pair of jeans and one of Steve’s old college hoodies before darting up the steps to check on Little Ben, leaving Steve behind to finish getting dressed on his own. He doesn’t get far before Sarah sweeps him up into a hug, ignoring his spluttering apologies over the mess he’s made of her dining room.

“It’s fine, Tony,” Sarah chuckles, still holding him close and scent-marking him in such a motherly way that he kind of goes jelly in her arms, purring. “D’ya, I never realized how much I’ve missed having such adorable O’s around until you and Peter came along. It warms my heart to see that you both feel safe enough in my den to make nests here.”

Tony flushes because it’s pretty much true. Omegas never make nests anywhere they don’t feel 100% safe and comfortable. 

“Now,” Sarah sighs, pulling away and grinning when Tony barely chokes back a groan of protest at the separation. “Let’s talk about my wee boy for a moment while it’s just us. Did he give you the ring?”

Tony nods with pink cheeks as he shows her with a shy smile.

Sarah makes a happy sound, complimenting how pretty it looks on Tony’s hand as she takes said hand and kisses his knuckles affectionately. “Aye, it’s a right fit. I knew it’d be,” she states, firmly certain of it. “Stevie kept going on and on during our flight to Ireland about how much he wished he could give you a ring. He was deep in his cups by this point, mind you, but I never let myself forget it. It’s an heirloom, generations old. Always passed down to the first wedded in the direct bloodline. Morgan, God rest his soul, never wanted it, and my folks were so bitter about my union that they refused to give it to me. I stole it for you and Steve. Can’t think of anyone else who deserves it more.”

Tony inhales shakily at that, feeling sharp tendrils of warm validation wash through him. “That’s - I - thank you, Sarah,” he breathes, voice wobbly with emotion. 

“No, thank you,” Sarah insists, cupping her hands over the sides of his face. She ducks down to press an affectionate kiss to the middle of his forehead. “You’ve brought me and Steve such joy, you sweet-smelling darling.”

Tony splutters at that. “More like countless and unnecessary problems,” he protests.

“No,” Sarah corrects, hugging him close again, rubbing a soothing circle between his shoulders which he has no choice but to melt from. “That was your spiteful parents, love. Not you. I wouldn’t spit in their direction.” She kisses the top of his head before pulling away. “Enough of that. I need to talk to you about the surprise party I want to throw for Steve this weekend.”

“Not tomorrow?” Tony is definitely on board but he’s a little curious about the timeframe. 

“Heaven’s no,” Sarah snorts, sounding fond. “Steve never liked celebrating his birthday on the actual day. Not only because it’s a national holiday and he doesn’t like going through the trouble of combining the festivities, but also because, well, it’s mostly a day of mourning for us as well.”

Tony swallows dryly as he realizes. “Right. Sorry.”

Sarah waves him off with a sad grin. “Aye. We don’t do much of anything besides lighting a few candles before sunrise and taking a moment of silence. The rest of the day we follow pretty normally. I’m usually at the shelter, helping the cooks prepare food for those staying with us currently. Steve sometimes joins me, or he spends it with Bucky or Sam. I’m sure he’ll tell you more about what he plans, but I’d like for us to put our heads together for his party. I’m thinking Saturday and Peggy has offered to host us. What d’ya think, love?”

Tony is really getting fond of the way she calls him that and finds that he could easily get used to it. He nods and says, “I’m fine with that. Just text me all the details or whatever you’re thinking.”

Sarah nods and ducks down to kiss his cheek before she wanders back into the kitchen where she was cooking herself some breakfast and tea.

Tony accepts her offer of eggs and toast while he goes to check on Little Ben, happy the spiderbot was smart enough to use foresight and hide Steve’s birthday project from view. “FRIDAY, you up?”

“ _Always for you, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY chirps back from his phone.

“You make nice with Little Ben?” 

“ _Oh absolutely,_ ” FRIDAY promises, tone colored with humor. “ _He’s family after all. An annoying little brother from the future._ ”

Tony barks out a laugh as he reads all of his push notifications. “Annoying? How so, baby girl?”

“ _I exaggerated. Not exactly annoying._   _Curious. Exceedingly curious, Boss. He asks so many questions. Endless questions_.”

Tony snorts because he could see that but he’s more interested in the fact that they can communicate with each other. “So, you can understand him, huh?”

“ _In a way_ ,” FRIDAY carefully concedes. “ _His vocabulary is very choppy at best when translated from machine-readable text to natural language._ ”

“Oh yeah? Ask him what he thinks about me. I’m curious to know.”

FRIDAY jumps into his tablet, which is nearest to Little Ben, and they spend a few moments chirping to each other back and forth.

Is it weird that he’s filled with a sort of paternal pride watching them talk to each other? Oh well, Tony’s never pretended to be normal.

FRIDAY says, “ _He thinks you are really smart. And important._ ”

Tony has no choice but to be flattered as he grins fondly. “Oh yeah? What else?” he presses.

“ _Fishing,_ ” FRIDAY retorts sweetly. “ _Boss is fishing._ ”

Tony laughs because that’s totally what he’s doing. “Fine, fine,” he concedes. “You’ve got anything for me on the doctor front?”

“ _Yes. Based on the parameters and requirements you specified, I have scheduled an appointment with Dr. Helen Cho. She is the most qualified to become your main physician amongst Mr. Hammer’s private medical staff. She is free to meet with you within an hour and a half, provided that you leave in the next forty minutes._ ”

“Sounds good,” Tony confirms, trusting his girl’s judgment. He thanks Sarah when she joins him at the dining room table with generous portions of food. He takes a moment to introduce his mother-in-law to his AI and isn’t the least surprised when they take to one another.

Steve is speed-walking over to say his goodbyes, muttering about how he’s running late as he presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek first, and then Sarah’s next before he’s stealing bacon and toast from both Sarah and Tony’s plates, out the door in the next moment.

Tony and Sarah share a look with each other before snickering and shaking their heads in fond exasperation. Once they’re sure they are alone, they dive into a deep discussion about Steve’s surprise birthday party.

.

.

.

_Justin Hammer has added you and Christine Everhart to the group chat “Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Little Bear”_

**hammer-time69:** hey little star  
**hammer-time69:** just checking in  
**hammer-time69:** how goes the search for the Kevin Foster to your Whitney Houston?

 **youknowwhoiam:** nice bodyguard joke -_-

 **hammer-time69:** ;)

 **youknowwhoiam:** basically nonexistent tbh  
**youknowwhoiam:** i’m busy getting a physical right now  
**youknowwhoiam:** which you asked me to get btw

 **hammer-time69:** so i did  
**hammer-time69:** if you need me to step in  
**hammer-time69:** i can and will

 **youknowwhoiam:** no thanks  
**youknowwhoiam:** hello and good morning ms everhart

 **brown-not-berkeley:** good morning mr rogers :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** how are you

 **brown-not-berkeley:** good, thanks for asking and you?

 **youknowwhoiam:** being poked and prodded within an inch of my life

 **brown-not-berkeley:** ah, yeah, i know how that goes  
**brown-not-berkeley:** physicals are no cakewalk for us omegas

 **hammer-time69:** i’m getting the distinct feeling  
**hammer-time69:** that i’m being ignored

 **youknowwhoiam:** ms everhart do you hear something :)

 **brown-not-berkeley:** not at all :)

 **hammer-time69:** :(  
**hammer-time69:** my precious angel omegas  
**hammer-time69:** why are you so cruel

 **youknowwhoiam:** ok wow  
**youknowwhoiam:** not being the center of attention never killed anyone  
**youknowwhoiam:** you’ll live

 **brown-not-berkeley:** or don’t :)

_hammer-time69 disliked brown-not-berkeley’s ‘or don’t :)’ message_

**youknowwhoiam:** lol  
**youknowwhoiam:** ms everhart would you be open to helping me secure both a bodyguard and a personal assistant  
**youknowwhoiam:** i just realized that my AI can only do so much without physical autonomy  
**youknowwhoiam:** and plus you appear to make mr hammer’s life seamless despite being the ceo to a multi-billion dollar company

 **brown-not-berkeley:** aww you absolute sweet thing thank you for saying that  
**brown-not-berkeley:** i’d be more than happy to help you pumpkin

 **hammer-time69:** ok wow  
**hammer-time69:** so my offer to do the same was just garbage huh kiddo

 **youknowwhoiam:** do you disagree?

_brown-not-berkeley emphasized youknowwhoiam’s ‘do you disagree?’ message_

**hammer-time69:** jesus nvm  
**hammer-time69:** i know when to pick my battles thanks  
**hammer-time69:** not a genius for nothing

 **youknowwhoiam:** :)

 **brown-not-berkeley:** :)

.

.

.

Never before had Tony noticed how time is so much like water; that it can pass slowly, a drop at a time, even freeze, or rush by in a blink. The clock on the wall above Dr. Cho’s head in her office says it is measured and constant - _tick-tock_ \- part of an orderly world. 

The clock lies. 

Tony is stuck in his shock, seated in the cushioned chair on the other side of a sleek metal and glass desk with expensive devices placed neatly on the surface. 

There’s a single wall of windows, which offers a lot of light, and against it is a miniature fish aquarium. He continues to glance around as Dr. Cho lets him absorb the shocking news she just whammied him with. 

Tony avoids her empathetic gaze to glance at all the certificates posted to the walls. It gives off the impression that the Beta woman really knows her stuff. She also has framed pictures of her patients on the wall, some with Dr. Cho in them and some without. 

It really personalizes Dr. Cho’s workspace and shows that she’s not just some standoffish doctor; the Beta woman engages with her patients on a personal level. 

Tony tries to finds that very reassuring but he’s too busy being suspended in disbelief. “I can’t be pregnant,” he finally protests when he finds his voice. “I have an IUD.”

“Yes, while I understand your confusion, I must point out that it’s not reliable failsafe, especially during Heat, when the chances of pregnancy are at an all-time high. You combine that with knotting and no protection, and you’ve upped the chances to nearly eighty percent. Don’t feel bad, not a lot of people are aware of this because many medical professionals neglect to explain this to Omegas for the sake of - well, nothing good due to the steady decline of our nation’s population. The blood results don’t lie, Mr. Rogers. You are pregnant.”

A nurse appears a moment later with a miniature bottle of water, which she hands to shell-shocked Tony before disappearing again. 

Tony drains it in seconds as his mind races. He’s not … he’s not upset. He’s just honestly surprised. He didn’t plan this but, well, he’s not _upset._  

Dr. Cho looks a little concerned when Tony starts giggling behind his hand hysterically.

It’s just that Tony, for a brief moment, weeks ago, had _wanted_ something like this to happen. He never thought for a single second that it actually might. But it’s just like Dr. Cho said - the blood results don’t lie. He’s pregnant with Steve’s child. 

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Oh _god,_ he’s _pregnant_ with _Steve’s_ child.

Dr. Cho quickly passes him a tissue box as his giggles dissolve into sobs of overwhelmed joy. She rounds the desk to sit in the chair beside him and rubs his back in soothing circles as she waits him out patiently.

Tony blows his nose, eyes hot and throat clogged with emotion. 

“You have options,” Dr. Cho offers.

“I don’t want them,” Tony replies firmly, drying his cheeks. “Thank you, but I’m - I don’t need them.”

Dr. Cho nods in understanding before she returns to the other side of the desk once she’s sure he’s okay. “I’ve been practicing Omegan medicine for about thirty years now. I haven’t lost any patients in all that time, a record I intend to keep. The reason I come highly recommended is because I know my stuff. Not to sound arrogant, but I do. I’ve centered my life around studying and observing all sorts of Omegan health and OB/GYN. I’ve taken this knowledge and utilized both holistic and modern science I’ve learned from different cultures and put it into practice by marrying it all together. I’d love to be your doctor if you’d be willing to give me the chance.” 

Tony takes a deep breath and nods.

Dr. Cho beams. “Thank you. I promise to earn my keep.” She pauses to write down a few things in her journal. Then she says, “I would, however, like to run a few more tests. Depending on the results, we may be able to discuss ways to combat some of the mild symptoms you said you’ve been experiencing with what I like to call a S.M.A.R.T. Gestation Plan. I do want you to be as comfortable as possible for these next couple of trimesters.” She breaks it down by saying, “The endgame is to be sure that the entirety of your pregnancy is a healthy and safe one. We do that by making sure that all your wellness goals are specific, measurable, attainable, relevant and timely as it pertains to diet, exercise, supplementary intake, and fetal development.” 

Tony is very apprehensive at the mention of _more_ tests and he’s sure it shows on his face.

Dr. Cho smiles gently. “Mr. Rogers - can I call you Tony?” 

Tony nods. 

“No need to look so concerned, Tony,” Dr. Cho assures. “I’m just going to have a few of my nurses draw some more blood. I’ll want some hair samples as well. The results will take about three hours but I would like you to stay so we can go over a game plan about what kind of lifestyle changes we should anticipate and enact. Then I’d like to send you on your way with a personalized home care plan based on the results from the lab. Usually, I would also do an ultrasound, but from what I can see, you are still very early in the pregnancy. We’ll save that for your next visit, let’s say, three weeks from now. Sound good?” 

Tony nods, mind still spinning and trying to accept that he’s _actually_ pregnant. Suddenly all those moments where someone has told him how sweet he smells is coming back to haunt him.

“Now, we need to get your IUD removed. You okay to do that now? I highly recommend it,” Dr. Cho encourages and when Tony nods, she stands and gestures for him to follow her to one of the medical examination rooms to get him prepped for the quick procedure.

When that’s all said and done, nurse after nurse file in to poke and prod him again and the next three hours are spent in Dr. Cho’s office as they talk out Tony’s condition.

Dr. Cho’s home care instructions come in the form of a packet. It gives the basic breakdown of what to expect in the first trimester of pregnancy, how to manage his specific symptoms, and a personalized nutritional proposal, all based on his test results. 

Tony also asks for a digital copy of everything before he wanders to the other side of the building to fulfill all his prescriptions (prenatal/supplementary vitamins in the form of gummies). 

It’s late noon by the time he returns home, happy to find it empty because he’s still trying to process today’s events. 

Tony is absolutely exhausted and slightly sore from where they poked and prodded him at the clinic. He practically melts onto the long couch in the living room the minute he gets into the house, curling up against a cushion as he blinks drowsily at the TV. 

There’s a _Scooby-Doo_ marathon on.

Tony halfheartedly watches it as he rubs at his lower stomach subconsciously. He drifts off to sleep, not realizing he’s purring.

When he wakes up just thirty minutes later, he feels inspired to make good on a promise he made many years ago.

.

.

.

“And you said this is called a what now?”

“ _Chili dog_ , Jarvis,” Tony laughs between bites as they walk along the pier at Coney Island. 

Jarvis continues to eye it with distaste, dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth despite his prominent frown. “Master Anthony, I must say, although flattered that you snuck into Stark Tower to see me and bring me here, I must confess to feeling … rather confounded.”

Tony smiles softly as they sit down on a nearby bench after Tony shoos a few seagulls away. He twists so that their knees knock together after they have sat down and says, “Steve keeps a picture of me on the screen of his phone.”

“Does he?” Jarvis replies but the edges of his mouth are twitching with relieved approval. “Your Alpha is good to you?”

“Amazing,” Tony blurts and flushes when it gets Jarvis to laugh affectionately. “Jarvis, you’d - you’d _love_ him if you knew him. He’s so - he makes me feel so - he’s _very_ good to me.”

Tears start to build up in Jarvis’s eyes and he warns, “You must forgive me for this.” and he takes both his and Tony’s chili dogs before dumping them in a nearby trash bin. 

Tony is in the middle of spluttering in outrage when Jarvis stands him to his feet so that he can embrace the younger Omega. Tony freezes in shock because although Jarvis has broken many rules and boundaries for Tony’s sake, he never dared to engage Tony in any physical affection, despite how much he always seemed to want to.

Tony is floored at how amazing it feels to be in Jarvis’s arms, how good and - and _right._  God, it’s right in a way he can’t even explain. He wraps his arms around the older Omega and returns the embrace, feeling oh so very held and loved at that moment. He shivers and shakes as Jarvis murmurs affectionately in low tones, rubbing his back soothingly as Tony reels at how something inside of him seems to snap in place. Something he didn’t even know was missing.

Jarvis pulls away with tear-stained cheeks to say, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

Tony gawks.

“This is why you begged me to leave the Tower with you. You didn’t want to say it with all your father’s eyes and ears still lingering about. You always swore you’d tell me first when the day came and you smell so very sweet.”

“Jesus, it’s truly astonishing how well you know me, J!” Tony exclaims while the older Omega looks at him fondly. “Yes. I just found out today. I’m - I’m going to be a _dad._  Oh my god. I’m going to be someone’s _Oma_.”

“And you’ll be spectacular at it,” Jarvis adds with firm confidence that brokers no further argument about the subject. He brushes the longer strands of Tony’s hair out of his eyes before he cups his hands over Tony’s shoulder, disregarding the protocol they’ve always followed about public displays of affection. “You know … this coming Christmas will mark the final year of my contract with your father.”

Tony inhales sharply at that simply because of all the implications. “What will you - where will you go?” he asks, curious yet afraid of the answer.

“Oh my dear boy,” Jarvis chides affectionately with a smile that’s packed with paternal love and pride. “Where else but to you? If you should have these old bones.”

“These old bones are very much wanted,” Tony quickly assures despite his delighted shock. 

Jarvis nods, satisfied. He walks Tony back over to the bench so they can sit. His whiskey brown eyes trace the features of Tony’s face like he’s trying to set it to memory. He says, “I have so much I wish to tell you. When the day comes, I will. We have so much to talk about, Master Anthony. I just hope you can forgive me when it’s all finally said.”

Tony smiles in confusion. “What are you talking about? You keeping a big secret from me?” he jokes and his grin falters at the sober expression Jarvis is wearing. He frowns as he considers what that means. “You’ve got an NDA clause in your contract,” he reasons.

Jarvis nods stiffly. 

“Was I adopted?” Tony asks, suddenly excited by the prospect that he’s not really related to Howard or Maria at all.

Jarvis huffs, recognizing his tone. “Please do not jump to conclusions, Master Anthony. I would hate to disappoint you by dispelling any outlandish notions your imagination churns out,” he says.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” Tony sings with a coy grin. “I hope my real parents are eccentric hippies from Arizona who sell turquoise jewelry, hard washed jean jackets, and statues made of petrified wood.”

“Yes, I suppose that would explain your lifelong obsession with all of those things,” Jarvis dryly agrees, mouth twitching when it gets Tony to laugh. “Come now, Master Anthony. Tell me more about that ring on your finger.”

Tony does, smiling the whole time. He catches Jarvis up on everything before they have to reluctantly part ways.

.

.

.

Sarah’s in the kitchen, frying fish and making cheesy scalloped potatoes for dinner when Tony finally makes his way home. She smiles when she sees him and informs him that Steve is out back, sitting under the stars to sketch the Moon.

Tony feels his heart skip a beat as his gut twists in anticipation. During the ride home, he had thought long and hard about how he wanted to break the news to his Alpha. Parts of him were really worried that Steve would respond negatively, but there’s another side that reminds him that Steve had outright admitted that he wanted kids.

 _And now it’s happening way sooner than expected,_  Tony marvels as he goes into the dining room to drag the whiteboard out to the backyard.

Sarah huffs when she seems him do so but she doesn’t question it, too concentrated on dinner preparations. She tells him to warn Steve that dinner will be ready shortly. 

Speaking of Steve, the Alpha is sitting on a picnic blanket out on the grass, lap covered by one of his larger sketch pads and fingers smudged with charcoal currently in his hand. He doesn’t pause his work as he watches with a bemused smile while Tony grunts with the effort of hauling his whiteboard across the lawn.

“Hey, honey,” Steve says with an amused frown. “What’s all this?”

“You like puzzles, right?” Tony doesn’t wait for a response as he starts writing out 10 sentences exactly. “Well riddles, you know, they are kinda puzzle adjacent, aren't they? Anyway, guess the missing words.”

Steve huffs, still looking bemused but he plays along. He reads, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for … ice cream?”

Tony writes it out and encourages him to figure out the next sentence.

“This is the day that comes after Sunday,” Steve reads. “Monday?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

Steve continues on to the next sentence, “These are flightless birds that live in the North Pole … penguins?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

“What animal loves carrots?” Steve reads. “Rabbits?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

“What’s the third planet from the Sun?” Steve reads. “Earth?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

“This is the study of rocks and minerals … geology?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

“The shortened version of someone’s full name is considered what?” Steve reads. “Nickname?”

Tony nods and writes it out.

“Famous Russian princess that has an animated movie of the same name … Anastasia?”

Tony’s heart starts picking up speed as he writes it out because they are getting close to the moment of truth.

“This helps people quit smoking,” Steve reads. “Nicotine?”

Tony nods as his heart really starts galloping while he points to the last sentence.

“What’s our favorite movie?” Steve reads and snickers a little bit. “Our? We have a - oh, wait, yeah we do. Christ. It’s _The Princess Bride,_ isn’t it?”

Tony laughs as he writes it out, feeling restless with nerves as he fidgets and moves out of the way so the whiteboard is in full view. “So, uh,” he starts, fidgeting. “If I did this right - every first letter should spell out a message.”

“A message?” Steve echoes with a thoughtful frown. He glances at the board. “A message … hm.” He cocks his head as he spells it out, “I-M-P-R-E-G-N-A-N-T.” He pauses as he silently mulls it over. “I’m pregnant?” he guesses.

“You too, huh?” Tony jokes shakily. “What a coincidence.”

Steve inhales sharply, turning his head to look at Tony with wide-eyed awe and surprise. He stumbles to his feet, letting his sketchpad and charcoal drop carelessly to the ground without a second thought. “Honey … are you - are you really -” He looks stunned but also reluctantly hopeful.

“I am,” Tony confirms quietly. “It showed up in my blood results. My doctor is pretty certain. Plus, you know, it would explain the coffee thing and the, uh, what I thought was motion sickness. Also, you said it yourself that I smelled, um, sweeter.”

Steve nods with a watery smile before he yanks Tony into a tight hug as he begins to silently weep.

“Aw, no, lamb, come on. Don’t cry, please,” Tony begs, panicking slightly. “Are you mad? You’re not allowed to be mad at me. This is fifty percent your fault, mister.”

Steve chokes on something that sounds like the mutant child of a laugh and a sob. He shakes his head from where he has face tucked in the side of Tony’s neck. “M’not mad, sweetheart. I’m - I’m so _fucking_ happy,” he swears lowly before he drops to his knees to he can kiss Tony’s stomach over and over. “I love you. Christ, I love you. I love you so fucking much. God, you’re gonna have my baby. You’re having my baby. That’s - fuck. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Can’t believe you’d think I’d be _mad_ about it. Christ. Never.”

Tony feels lightheaded with the relief Steve’s praise brings and he gets a bit teary-eyed as he combs his fingers through Steve’s golden hair as the Alpha continues to coos and whisper to his stomach, nothing but tender promises and vows to their unborn child. He smiles and shakes his head. “Steve, come on, get up before Sarah comes out and see you make a fool of yourself.”

Steve brightens at that. “We should tell her,” he decides, climbing to his feet to kiss Tony slowly and deeply until Tony's toes curl inside his shoes. Okay, yeah, wow - Steve is definitely on board with this. “We should tell everyone,” he gasps, breaking from the kiss. He can’t seem to keep his hands off of Tony.

Tony squirms under the caresses as his face burns at the mere idea of letting the whole world know. “We can’t - we shouldn’t - _ah!_ ” He gasps, his hips jumping forward when Steve suddenly bites down on the side of his neck, no doubt leaving a hickey. “Dr. Cho says we should wait until the end of my first trimester before we make any announcements.”

Steve pulls back with a prominent frown. “Really? Why?”

“We have to factor in the risk of miscarriage,” Tony explains, as uncomfortable as the thought is. “Not that I think - not that I believe it will happen, but, well. I kinda wanna just keep this between us for now. It’s - it’s _really_ big news and I would rather talk about it when I feel ready for everyone to know.” 

Steve takes that into consideration. He sighs and nods. “It’s your call, Tony. I’ll follow your lead. If you want to wait, we’ll wait. It’s gonna eat me alive, but I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Tony huffs fondly and kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Dr. Cho gave me this whole packet thing if you wanna take a look with me later?”

Steve nods eagerly and it makes Tony smile at the enthusiasm. He presses their foreheads together and says, “We’re having a baby.”

“Yeah, Cap. We’ve got a new team member that’s going to join us in February 2020.”

Steve laughs at that before dragging him into another mushy kiss like he’s trying to convince him of something. It takes longer than Tony would like to admit but he eventually figures it out.

“Okay, okay,” Tony complains between kisses that makes his knees go weak. “We can tell Sarah and Peter. But that’s it.”

Steve’s racing towards the kitchen before Tony even finishes that sentence. 

Shortly after, Tony finds himself squished between two emotional Alphas, who are both weeping with joy and doting on him. He has to admit that it isn’t the worse thing in the world.

Dinner is interesting, to say the least. Both Alphas watch him eat as if he was hanging the best twinkling stars in the sky, but if he’s being honest, if only with himself, he really doesn’t mind. It makes him feel special in a way that he's never experienced before.

He loves his growing family.

.

.

.

Dora shows up with Peter in tow just as Tony is working on his third serving of spiced plum pudding, curled up into Steve’s lap in his and Peter’s nest on a mound of pillows where they are discussing their Fourth of July plans in greater detail.

Sarah has already headed to bed, claiming to have a really early start in the morning, as well as reminding Steve of their annual tradition before sunrise.

Anyway, the doorbell spits out a few lyrics just as Tony and Steve come to an agreement about spending his birthday with Bucky and his family. 

“That’ll be Dora,” Tony remarks, wiggling out of the warm comfort of Steve’s arms. He opens the door and barely manages to evade a flustered and embarrassed Peter, who dashes straight up to Steve’s old room with his arm full of shopping bags.

Dora makes a sympathetic face just as Steve joins them, waving at Eddie over her shoulder.

Eddie waves back weakly before ducking as low as he can in the passenger seat.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks, immediately sensing something off. “Are the boys fighting again?”

Dora laughs nervously. “Oh, I’m afraid it’s quite the opposite,” she admits. “I caught them kissing just before we left.”

Tony chokes on his own spit as he presses a hand to his chest in shock.

“You caught them - caught them _kissing?_ ” Steve repeats back, baffled. 

Dora nods and says, “Listen, I don’t judge. I know that dating your own kind is considered taboo outside of Betas, which is the norm since they are baseline. But - amongst your own, well.”

“It’s uncommon and frowned upon in most circles,” Tony supplies as it really sinks in. 

“Right,” Dora agrees. “Not that I think that because I don’t. I told Eddie I love him no matter what he likes or who he decides to love. I think maybe you should tell Sarah so she can reassure Peter of that too. She should - should also, you know … set expectations about that, uh, _that_ kind of lifestyle.”

Tony grimaces at the way she dances around it. It’s a bit offensive that she’s emphasizing things that way, but he knows she’s doing her best to deal with the situation at hand. She’s not wrong to say that it’s frowned upon because it really is. A high portion of the world’s population was not accepting of same-secondary gender couples outside of Betas. 

It’s only just recently were more and more people coming out proudly, as well as marching and protesting for equal rights. There was even a turn of the tide on the slur ‘queer’ which was used to belittle considered of odd sexual orientation but is now considered more of a boast, or a modern label. Great strides have been made, yes, but there was still quite a ways to go. It was considered 'disrupting to the natural order'.

“Anyway, I thought you’d want to know,” Dora continues as she slowly backs up towards the steps. “I’m gonna go and dive into some research. Look up support groups and all that. I’ll be sure to forward you anything I find. No reason the boys should feel alone and isolated over this.”

“Thank you,” Steve says with an encouraging nod. He guides Tony silently in the house. “So …”

Tony looks at him in question.

“I want to know want you think before we go talk to him,” Steve clarifies. “I have no qualms about how he chooses to identify.”

“It’s not an issue for me either. I’m just - surprised,” Tony admits because he is. He can’t say he expected to ever be in this position. He’s not an idiot though. He knows what a tough time the world can put a person through when it feels entitled to it. Why would he offer no escape of that to his own kid? Or any of his future kids? No way. He’s no Howard or Maria. “Dora’s right though. We should let him know we - that it doesn’t change how we see him.”

Steve smiles softly, brushing the tips of his fingers across his left cheek before dropping that hand to lace with Tony’s. 

Together they make their way up the stairs after Tony makes a pit stop to grab a box of tissues, just in case Peter will need it.

By the way Peter’s cheeks are pink with misery, eyes swollen with tears, Tony is glad to see that he’s pretty intuitive as a parent.

Steve ushers both Tony and Peter into the room, urging them to sit on his old bed while he takes his uncomfortable desk chair. 

Tony has no time to be fond over the consideration because he’s too busy noticing how much Peter’s trembling nervously. It makes his heart crack open.

“Hey, kiddo,” Steve starts, keeping his words gentle and his expression as non-judgmental as possible. “So, we, ah - heard you and Eddie have grown affectionate towards one another.”

“It was just - we’re only p-practicing,” Peter stammers, tears of panic building in his soft doe eyes. “I wouldn’t - I know I’m not supposed to want - I’m not like that.”

“Not like what?” Tony carefully questions, not to tease, but to understand Peter’s mindset of the situation. “What do you think that’s like?”

“ _Wrong,_ ” Peter replies, nearly venomous and bitter. “I’ve heard it all before. At school, and on social media. Did you know I had to shut down _all_ of my accounts when I came out? It was - they were _relentless._  The - the things they called me.” He pauses and presses a hand over his mouth to catch an anguished sob that tries to roll out. “But I -” He’s choking on his words. “But I can’t _help_ how I feel and it’s not _fair._ I’m not a bad person,” he sobs. “Please don’t hate me.”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve rushes to say, jumping up and joining them on the bed, sitting to Peter’s left as he pulls him into a hug. “You’re every bit of the best part of us,” he swears. “Hating you would be hating ourselves.”

“And I like myself very much,” Tony adds, voice wobbly with emotion. He can’t stand the sound of Peter crying that way. It’s so torturous, and it guts him something awful. He takes a deep breath and does something he told himself he wouldn’t. He rests a hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, squeezing affectionately as he scent-marks the younger Omega and lets himself get emotionally involved. “Hey, I’m feeling pretty neglected here, Pete.”

Peter sniffs and looks at him with hopeful eyes, scrambling to nearly climb into Tony’s lap when the older Omega gives him an encouraging grin. “Whoa - hey, hey, easy. You’re okay. It’s okay,” he quickly soothes when Peter sobs in utter relief and gratefulness. It’s enough to make Tony realize how much of a distant dick he was being to his own son. It could be the pregnancy hormones talking, but he vows to be better as he rubs comforting circles in Peter’s back.

Peter soaks up the affection like a dry sponge that’s been left in the desert for far too long.

Steve scoots closer, sandwiching Peter between them as he tries his hand at scent-marking the younger Omega in hopes it will help comfort him.

Tony gets genuinely distressed when Peter seems no closer to calming down, so he decides to take a page from Jarvis’s book and distract him a bit with an unexpected question. He says, “Have you ever seen a picture of yourself?”

Peter gives another hiccuping sob, clinging to him.

“Not like a normal picture,” Tony continues. “But one that was taken when you didn't know you were being photographed? From an angle that you don't usually see when you look in a mirror.”

Peter sniffs, still hiccuping off and on, but he’s blinking wetly yet curiously up at Tony.

Tony offers him half-smile. “So there you are, sure you know yourself, sure you know how _everyone_ sees you, but you're confronted with the truth. You see that picture - the angle - and you think  … that's me. That's also me. I'm that, and I didn't know. But now you know, and now you see, and you decide to just ... accept that there's more to you than even what you realize. Because you like that angle. It's an angle you hadn't rehearsed or performed or tried to perfect. It's you. It's ... also you. Candid. Unfiltered. In your natural state.” He reaches out and brushes some of Peter’s curls off of his forehead. “Do you know what I'm talking about?”

Peter hiccups, sniffs, but then nods. "I think so. Yeah."

“Good,” Tony murmurs. “Remember that feeling, okay? When some asshole tells you what to do with your own heart and who to give it to - remember that.”

Peter sniffs, and quietly says, in a scratchy voice, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony repeats and presses a kiss to his warm cheek. “Steve’s right. You’re the absolute best of us. Our greatest creation.”

Peter positively glows with the praise, preening even as his cheeks fill with color, ducking down so he can hide his grin.

Steve spots it with a fond smile of his own, winking at Tony as he gives him the thumbs-up.

Tony huffs and gently pats Peter on the top of his head before he stands. He says, “Are you okay?”

Peter nods shyly as he leans into Steve’s side.

Tony catches Steve's gaze, and wordlessly asks him something, to which the Alpha shrugs and nods back at him. “Right,” he begins, meeting Peter’s curious eyes. “Not to make it all about me, but - we’re not telling everyone yet, just so you know - I’m pregnant.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Really?” he croaks, and he looks equals parts excited but also slightly panicky. “Oh - oh no.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Not exactly the reaction I was going for, kid,” he remarks wryly, crossing his arms.

“Oh, no! Sorry, I -” Peter scrambles to recover, but the panic is still definitely there. “You don’t understand. You - this wasn’t meant to happen until like - like _two years_ from now.”

“What?” Tony and Steve reply simultaneously.

“Oh my _god,_ this explains the weird headaches I’ve been getting on and off. New memories and -”

“Okay, _what_ do you mean _headaches?_ ” Tony snaps, very upset. “You cannot just withhold vital information like that! Jesus! What other symptoms have you been experiencing?”

Peter flinches slightly, looking caught. “I - not a lot,” he tries to downplay. “Nothing more unusual than the kind of symptoms you get when you have a concussion. Only - only your life - or the life you thought you knew or remembered seems to be rewriting and rearranging itself on a daily basis.”

“ _Daily!_ ” Tony exclaims, knowing his voice is probably more shrill than it needed to be. “You do _not_ hide something like that from us!”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal, okay?” Peter retorts, growing frustrated himself. "I really didn't. I was - I was even prepared to deal with the aftermath of my being here." His words are a bit stilted like he's hiding something else. "It's not a big deal."

Tony laughs humorlessly. “You realize what you’re describing is something similar to rapid cell deterioration paired with aggressive evolution of molecular biology? Yeah, those _headaches_ you’re having is your brain destroying and rebuilding itself to get you to - to - to _fit_ in a timeline of which you shouldn’t be in to begin with!”

Peter stammers, going bug-eyed again.

“When did it start?” Tony demands. “When was it?”

Peter looks a little shamefaced as he says, “Ever since I left Little Ben at Uncle Riley’s Virginia beach house.”

Tony thinks back to that day, not sure why there would be any significance to it before he realizes just what he’d been about to do before Peter’s knock disrupted him. He’d was going to take apart the plasma gun himself. “We must have fought,” he reasons lowly.

Steve frowns, his side of the bond muddled with confused hues of yellow. “Tony?”

“We argued,” Tony repeats, a little louder, looking at Peter, who fidgets guilty. “Over the plasma gun,” he clarifies, looking to Steve, who is confused. “I would have - I had been thinking about taking it apart without you. Nearly would have done it if it weren’t for Peter leaving Little Ben behind for me to find.”

Steve's expression morphs into something disapproving as his side of the bond sours with upset violets. “Yeah …” he trails off, nostril-flaring for a moment. “I can see how we could have ended arguing about _that._ ”

“Well, don’t get mad about it now,” Tony mumbles, crossing his arms defensively as Steve gives a funny look for it. “It didn’t happen so it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that it was _suppose_ to happen in the grand scheme of things. Which means you and I never - we didn't spend, uh, all our _time_ together,” he carefully explains with a pointed look.

Steve seems to pick up on the things he doesn’t say and gets a little pink as he clears his throat. “Ah,” he says weakly, understanding that they weren’t meant to spend Tony’s Heat together the first time around. 

Peter is still blissfully unaware of the underlying discussion. “Am I … still in trouble?” he asks.

“Yes,” Tony and Steve say at the same time and toss each other amused looks for it.

“Well, what should we do?” Peter asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ _We_ can’t do anything. It’s my invention,” Tony points out, not unkindly. “It falls on me to figure out how to fix your time-watch and send you back before anything else gets changed. Meddling with the future is stupid and risky. You better let me know as soon as you start having visions of the world ending in a blaze of nuclear bombs.”

“Uh, yes?” Peter replies, honestly perplexed by such a scenario. 

Tony huffs, feeling a headache build between his eyes. “I should ground you,” he mutters. “I’m not pregnant with you am I?”

Peter quickly shakes his head no, confident.

“That’s something at least,” Tony sighs, glad he doesn’t have to also stress about how Peter’s meddlesome ways will affect his current pregnancy. “Hang on - how many kids do I have before I get to you?”

Peter’s brow furrows and he opens his mouth.

Tony beats him to the punch, “Nope. Don’t even try to talk yourself out of telling me. You’ve done some pretty irreversible maneuvering so far. I have to - I need to be sure things are still going according to plan, if not a little earlier than expected.”

Peter hesitates still before he spills, “Five Alpha girls, and then me. I’m the youngest.”

“Oh wow, I’ve been busy,” Tony mumbles, astounded, reaching out behind him for the desk chair when he suddenly gets weak-kneed at the thought of giving Steve such an abundance of kids. “Gotta say, never imagined myself having that many kids. _Six._  That’s just ambitious.” 

Peter smiles wryly. “Pops always said after the first one, you two were pretty much sold on it,” he says with a shrug.

Tony’s heart flutters at the thought, and suddenly he wants to know everything about his other kids, about his _daughters._  He’s always wanted a girl, deep down in places he never really talked about. He presses a hand to his lower stomach, thinking, _Jesus, it’s a girl - I’m having a girl._

Steve notices the gesture and his own expression softens proudly. He seems to be taking all of this exceptionally well. That's curious.

Peter fidgets nervously and says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - to cause problems.”

Tony snaps out of the daydream he was having about knitting a baby blanket from scratch, using the softest threads he can find. When Peter’s guilt-laced words catch up with him, he frowns severely and says, “I’m sorry, but what problems do you think you’re causing us? Last time I checked, which wasn’t too long ago, by the way, _you’re_ the one having problems just fine all on your own since you've _neglected_ to make mention of your symptoms. That stops as of now, just so you know. That’s non-negotiable.”

Peter swallows but bobs his head quickly and agreeably with a pinched expression.

Tony watches him closely for a few more minutes because something is needling at him about the way Peter just goes along with what he's saying. In his experience, Peter always gives more pushback than that. Maybe he's overthinking this. He sighs before he accepts the gesture at face value. “I’m going to have to get a second opinion about this. I’m a genius but even I have my limits,” he admits, thinking of Dr. Banner in particular. “You’re coming with me to work on Tuesday.”

Peter nods quickly once more, face carefully blank and neutral. Again, suspiciously agreeable.

“What should I be doing?” Steve asks with a wry half-grin. 

“Sit there and look pretty,” Tony replies flatly before standing. “Have you eaten?” he asks Peter, who shakes his head. “That’s easily solvable, thankfully. Come follow me down so Steve can make you a plate. I want to have FRIDAY scan you. You know FRIDAY, right?”

Peter nods diligently as he follows Tony out of the room.

“Why, yes - of course I’ll warm up some leftovers for our son,” Steve drawls sarcastically, trailing them down the stairs. “Thanks so much for asking me, Tony. I love how not demanding you are.”

Tony just tosses him an all too sweet smile before refocusing his attention on getting Peter to stand on the middle of the dining room table so Little Ben can web-sling around him, acting as FRIDAY’s eyes.

Steve reappears with a plate of cheesy potatoes and fried fish just as Tony is pulling up Peter’s vital signs via holographic display from his tablet.

Peter happily climbs down to steal the plate and eat his fill while Steve and Tony eye all the results.

“What does that mean?" Steve asks curiously. “Is that good?”

“No clue,” Tony admits and grins when Steve gives him a look for that. “This is actually for Dr. Banner. I’m hoping he can make sense of what this means. I’ll ask him to explain it to me so I can have a good understanding of it myself. Plus it wouldn’t hurt to know what I’m looking for. I mean, don’t get me wrong, at a basic level I do understand the simple things like blood pressure and heart rate. But everything else, that takes a more seasoned mind.”

Steve nods, understanding. Then he glances at Peter to say, “What would you like to do tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Your birthday?” Peter asks and there’s no missing the pleased smile Steve gives because the younger Omega knows his birthday by heart. “How do you mean?”

“Just trying to get an idea of how you’d like to spend it. With me and Tony, or with your grandma?” Steve clarifies and it doesn’t escape Tony’s notice that Peter seems taken aback by the consideration. It’s raising flags in Tony’s mind again.

“I - well, you, um, wouldn’t mind if I said I wanted to spend it with Nana?” Peter asks carefully, watching for Steve’s reaction.

Steve frowns a little, seeming to notice as well, but then his expression clears into something more encouraging. “I don’t see why I’d mind that. It’s your choice, kiddo,” he swears.

Peter takes a moment to consider that before he nods. “I’d like to volunteer at the shelter. I already do that anyway, and I kinda miss it,” he admits.

“That settles that then,” Tony decides, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, suddenly bone-tired. “Give Little Ben your phone so he can get FRIDAY uploaded. I’m going to have her monitor you.”

Peter’s expression is a bit mulish. “Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. 

“Could’ve bypassed that if you’d just been honest from the jump,” Tony points out before gesturing to Steve. “Also, you too. FRIDAY needs to reintegrate with your phone again.”

“Yes, dear. Of course, dear,” Steve drawls. “Whatever you say, dear.”

“Okay!” Tony exclaims, laughing. “That’ll do. Jesus. You’re so obnoxious sometimes.”

“Only sometimes? I’m doing better than I thought,” Steve replies, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Peter snickers as he sneaks off to get a few helpings of spiced plum pudding.

Tony rolls his eyes and leaves Steve right where he is without another word. He says goodnight to Peter when he passes him on his way down to his bedroom.

He’s unsurprised when it’s quickly returned to him, despite Peter’s puffed out cheeks from where he’s shoving spoonfuls of Sarah’s infamous sticky desert in his mouth. 

Tony huffs, continuing down and making a beeline for the bathroom, fully intent on washing his face, brushing his teeth and going straight to bed. 

He only stirs once when Steve climbs in to join him sometime later, sighing as his Alpha plasters himself against his back before drifting off to the feeling of Steve gently rubbing possessively at the flatness of his lower stomach.

.

.

.

Sobbing.

Someone’s sobbing.

Tony frowns as his eyes lazily rolled open, glazed over with the remnants of a dream he’s already forgetting. The sobbing continues and he finds himself sloppily patting at Steve’s hand. “Babe,” he mumbles, noticing it’s still pitch black in their bedroom, which means it’s still the middle of the night. “What is that?”

“Hm?” Steve replies, sounding out of it still as he cuddles closer.

“Crying. Someone’s crying - I think.”

“Crying?” Steve mutters, sleepy and confused. He pauses as the sobbing continues outside their door. “Oh. Yeah, I - think I hear it too. Hang on.”

Tony sighs unhappily when Steve rolls out of bed. He burrows himself into the warmth the Alpha left behind, cuddling into soft sheets that felt as so good against his bare skin. He’s glad, just at that moment, that he decided to go to bed in nothing but his underwear. He rubs the remainders of sleep from his eyes as Steve returns to bed with a - is that - what the _hell?_

Tony springs upright, completely awake as he stares at the toddler drowning in a graphic tee settled unhappily in Steve’s arms, who looks _suspiciously_ like Peter. “Please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is?” he begs.

Steve just gives him a helpless look as Peter crawls out of Steve’s arms and towards Tony.

“Da,” Peter says, crawling into his lap to cling to him with those adorable big brown eyes of his. They quickly fill with frustrated tears. “Da! Da! Me! Me!” he cries, sobbing again.

“Oh, Pete,” Tony breathes, clutching him close as he notices the time-watch on his small chubby wrist. He should have known by Peter's behavior that this was going to happen. He hadbeen _way_ too agreeable earlier. “What did you _do?_ ”

Peter gives another hiccuping sob, and it shreds Tony’s heart to absolute pieces at how tiny and miserable he sounds. “I fix!” he whimpers. “I try fix! Go bye bye. No me. No drama.”

Tony closes his eyes regretfully as he lifts Peter higher so he can nestle into the scent gland on the side of Tony’s neck. It calms down the three-year-old like he hoped it would. “Well, Steve - your son decided he’d try his hand at fixing the watch himself,” he explains.

Steve frowns, concerned as his side of the bond glimmer with anxious yellows and violets. “Is that true, Peter?” he asks, ducking his head to meet the toddler’s gaze. “Why would you do something so dangerous, sweetheart?” he admonishes, even as he reaches out to rub at his back to get him to calm down a little more.

“Didn’t you hear what he said? No me. No drama.” Tony scoots away from the edge of the bed and towards Steve. “He was trying to unburden us from his presence. Guess he felt guiltier than what he was letting on.”

“Baby,” Peter sniffs. “Baby - baby more. More me.”

Steve looks at Tony, lost.

Tony sighs, wondering why he’s having a better time of understanding Peter than the Alpha does. He explains, “He thinks that the baby is more important than him. Like I said, he was trying to unburden us. I think the - _me_ being pregnant really surprised him. Possibly even freaked him out when it really sunk in that he undoubtedly modified the timeline.”

“Ah.” Steve lets that sink in as he glances at Peter, who quickly shuts his eyes guiltily as his cheeks go red, ducking his face into the side of Tony’s neck. The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches at the gesture before he sobers. “Is it reversible?”

“I really don’t know,” Tony admits as Peter whimpers in distress. Tony absentmindedly rocks him as he continues, “I’d have to figure out exactly what the kid did and _how_ he did it. But it’s - it’s possible. I mean, the good news, if it can be considered that, is he obviously still has the same mental capacity he did as a teenager. The only difference is now his motor skills are being challenged by untrained limbs. He’s, what? No older than two - three? Mentally he’s fourteen, but physically he’s just a baby.”

“No baby,” Peter mumbles sleepily in protest, halfway drifting off with the steady rocking motion Tony gives. “Fo-teen an’ half.”

“Oh mister, I wouldn’t argue semantics with me right now, I am very, _very_ upset with you,” Tony warns halfheartedly as Peter makes an unhappy sound, tossing a light kick at Tony’s elbow. Tony huffs mostly out of surprise at the tantrum before he lightly swats Peter’s behind. “No kicking. You’re in so much trouble as it is. You really could’ve hurt yourself.”

Peter doesn’t respond, pretending to be sleep.

Steve snickers quietly, shaking his head and reaching out to tweak Peter’s button nose.

“Papa, no,” Peter whines, turning his face away so he can go on pretending to be asleep so as to avoid Tony’s lecture. “Sleepy.”

Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t call Peter out on his bluff. He looks at Steve and says, “You fine with him sleeping with us? I don’t trust him by himself.”

Peter makes a grumpy sound and Tony merely hushes him.

Steve smiles, watching them both with this warm and affectionate look. “Fine by me,” he assures. “I’ll have to ask Ma about where she stashed my old baby clothes. I’m sure we can find him something to wear in the meantime. You think he’ll need diapers?”

“No baby!” Peter protests, cheeks going red with his irritation. He starts sniffling, tears spilling down. “I big. Big! No b-baby,” he sobs.

Tony sighs and starts actively bouncing him, rubbing his back to try and calm him down.

Steve tries to apologize, reaching out to also help comfort him but Peter just clings closer to Tony, kicking his small leg out to keep the Alpha away, sobbing harder out of sheer frustration with the situation.

Tony sighs and climbs out of bed to take Peter to the bathroom because the kid accidentally pees on him during all the commotion.

That makes the toddler wail even louder out of sheer embarrassment.

Steve gets dressed to run to the local corner store for some pull-ups.

Peter continues to wail and kick his legs when Tony tries giving him a bath in the deep sink, splashing water everywhere during his fit.

Tony ends up _soaked,_ and he makes the mistake of setting Peter on his feet when he's finished scrubbing him clean.

Peter slips in one of the bathroom puddles when he tries to make a run for it and starts wailing all over again just when Tony had finally gotten him to calm down.

Great.

Tony sighs and hefts Peter up to console him but the toddler wiggles fitfully in his arms.

“No baby!” Peter weeps angrily. “Down! Down!”

“Peter, no,” Tony says sternly as he tries to keep Peter from tipping and teetering out of his arms. “You’re just gonna run and get hurt again. Go easy on yourself. Your bones are way too soft right now.”

“No!” Peter sobs, stubbornly. “Down!”

“No.”

Peter wails louder.

Tony sighs for the millionth time and tries his earnest best to try and get Peter to calm down. 

But he can already tell its probably gonna be a long night.


	31. YEAR 1: PART VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - this chapter dedicated to all my day 1's out there cause damn like we really made it to **THIRTY-ONE CHAPTERS** and still counting, fam - phew :)

Steve stands inside the local corner store, next to the refrigerated section holding rows and rows of gleaming juices and energy drinks, staring at the small section meant just for small children, feeling completely out of his depth. He keeps his thoughts about his confusion in his head, focuses on texting Tony instead, who informs him that Peter is babbling and fussing, no closer to calm since Steve had left to make this run.

Steve is pretty sure about what he needs to get. That’s not where his confusion stems from. No, that feeling is solely meant for the dark-skinned woman who has been tailing him up until this point. He knows she means to be subtle about it, and really if Steve had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But he knows the kind of people in this neighborhood, he’s familiar with specific mannerisms, dress codes, and the type of cars that were infamous in Brooklyn Heights.

This dark-skinned woman with an eye patch doesn’t tick off a single one of those, which is why Steve is very intensely aware of her. 

Steve texts Tony that he’ll be home shortly after he grabs the 2T-3T pull-ups, one that’s labeled as ‘nighttime’ with Buzz Lightyear, and a regular set with Mickey Mouse. He’s interested to see how Peter’s going to react to this since he was pretty much against it from the start, but they have limited options until Peter can control his bladder. 

His Ma texts him, asking about what all the commotion is about and, geez, Peter must have a good set of lungs on him to wake his Ma up. She’s usually a really deep sleeper. He explains as much as he can and, again, his Ma adapts to it and even offers a bit of advice, telling him to get some PediaSure, a sippy cup, and some lavender baby lotion to massage Peter with so he can calm down enough for sleep.

Steve thanks her, and grabs said items before making a beeline to the register. He’s not even remotely surprised when the dark-skinned woman with an eyepatch steps in behind him with just a bag of trail mix. 

She adds it to his pile without asking and says, “Allow me.” and pays for everything together.

“You know me?” Steve asks as the cashier accepts the crisp fifty-dollar bill the dark-skinned woman hands over, which, yeah, definitely not from around these parts. Everyone who _is_ knows that it’s a mistake holding that much cash on you in a neighborhood like this. Not that it’s that bad of a neighborhood, but it never hurt to be cautious, and muggings didn’t just happen in the dark alleys of New York City, bursting to the brim with the rich.

“You could say that,” the Alpha merely replies, grabbing her trail mix and waiting for him to grab his share. She walks out with him, then pauses to give all her leftover change to a nearby homeless woman who thanks her immensely.

Steve is very curious now, not because of the eyepatch, or the intricate hairstyle she has shaved in the back of her low bald fade that’s the shape of a butterfly, or the fact that she looks as well aged as his Ma, shapely in her leather outfit but because she gave half of her money and her trail mix away to the Beta woman in need without hesitation or provocation.

She waves off the thanks she gets in return before nodding to Steve so they can continue their walk. She recites, “Steven Grant Rogers. Born on the Fourth of July to Ireland natives Sarah and Joseph Rogers. Graduated both Brooklyn Middle and High School with top honors in Junior ROTC, ranking as a Captain by the time you hit your Sophmore year in high school, an impressive feat never done before you came along. Yet when you went to pursue higher education, you earned a full-ride scholarship to the Pratt Institute for art. Only to drop out during the last semester before graduation to enlist. You ever wonder why they denied you, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve stops just as they reach the nearest intersection to face her with a wry grin. “You’ve got me at a disadvantage, ma’am. You seem to know everything about me, but I don’t know anything about you,” he points out.

“Of course, how rude. My name is Nicolette Fury. You can call me Nicolette or you can call me Fury. You can even call me Nick. Just don’t call me Nicole.”

“Ms. Fury,” Steve concedes, not moving an inch, even when the crosswalk light signals for it. “Is there something you need from me? Seems like a lotta effort on your part to just root around my background like that and spend small change on me with a big bill.”

Fury chuckles, looking deeply amused. “They said you were perceptive,” she comments. Then she goes on to say, “Let’s just say, after the stunt you pulled in Ireland, well - the information you dug up was no tiny, insignificant thing. More seasoned agents have never managed to gather that much intel in one fell swoop, least of all within the same decade. You’ve got a few agencies very interested in recruiting you.”

“And I suppose you’re one of them?” Steve volleys back, shifting his stance into something thoughtful, nonthreatening. “Also, that wasn’t a stunt. That was me putting my neck out for a friend.”

“Admirable,” Fury declares but her gaze is shrewd and calculating. “You know, Coulson and Romonav have been gunning for your husband ever since he made that little discovery.”

“So you work with SHIELD,” Steve remarks because he suspected as much. 

Fury’s smirk grows a bit, and she looks like she’s in on a joke that Steve knows nothing about that. “Yeah, you could say that,” she vaguely confirms. “At least it’s with the faction that hasn’t gone corrupt. I’m hoping to turn that around and I’m thinking perhaps you can help me do that.”

“Not sure in what way. I don’t have the same skills as Tony,” Steve points out blandly.

“And yet I’m talking to you, not him. Hammer called in all his favors with us, snatched up your husband’s AI and made it quite clear that we are never to accost him,” Fury retorts. “And just to show us he meant business, he had his legal team forward a restraining order.” 

Steve tries not to show any visible amusement at that because he’s aware. He had _personally_ asked the older Alpha _himself_ to do something about keeping SHIELD away from Tony. 

There’s really no lengths that Steve wouldn’t go to for Tony - he’d burn the whole world and put a crown of diamonds on his Omega’s head while he sat on a throne on a hill of the ashes if that’s what it took to keep him safe and happy. And you know what? He wouldn’t think twice about it either. That's a side of himself he doesn't think will ever  _have_ to see the light of day, so long as the rest of the world doesn't push him there.

Fury eyes him as though she’s trying to read his mind while also holding her cards close to her chest. “But I’m not here to talk about your better half.”

“Kinda got that,” Steve replies wryly, internally giving her credit for side-stepping the subject.

Fury flashes him a dangerous smile. “Mr. Rogers, why do you think the Army never outright rejected you?”

Steve’s never been a fan of this particular topic, and he’s sure the frown on his face speaks to that. He just says, “Something to do with my glowing health records, I’m sure.”

Fury lets the sarcasm roll off of her like water to a duck’s back. She replies, “But they never said that, did they?”

Steve sighs. “No. Just kept bringing it back to my bond status.”

“An easy excuse to use so they didn’t have to reject you in a more straightforward manner,” Fury agrees but her sharp smile doesn’t falter. “Did you know they did that to put you on retainer?”

Steve blinks in confusion because he didn’t, in fact, know that.

“You have perfect scores in each mark of their written and verbal assessments. Did they tell you that?” Fury goes on to ask.

Again, Steve is dumbfounded. “It … it never came up,” he admits because it hadn’t. They were always so invested in the ‘letting him down gently’ portion of that conversation. “When, ah, when you say - say _perfect,_ um -”

“I mean you tested well within the top ninety percentile, which is rare in and of itself,” Fury clarifies. “But they weren’t about to let the Navy or Marines get ahold of you. That’s why they never discouraged you from trying again. Despite what the media says, we’re not at war yet, but we’re nearly there. And when we are, Army’s trying to save the best for last. That includes you.”

Steve is stumped. 

“But I’m not as patient,” Fury says, despite his visible shock. She hands him a business card with a ten-digit number on the back and her initials on the front. 

Steve doesn’t take it. “If you had caught me at a time before I met Tony, I might have considered it. But I can’t even consider it now,” he explains, thinking of Tony and their unborn child, as well as Peter.

“Understood,” Fury replies but she doesn’t lower the hand offering the card despite saying this. “But what if I told you that your position would merely be ... clerical of sorts. That you’d be active in the field without ever actually being in it.”

Steve hates that he considers it.

Fury notices though. “I’m putting together a special team whose sole focus will be dismantling Hydra’s insidious reach. We’ll be supported, protected, and endorsed by the World Global Security. All I need are more handlers for the operatives we _are_ sending out into the field and based off of your impressive scoring in Strategy and Tactics, you might be a good fit to help lead the misguided flock.”

“Misguided?” The wording doesn’t escape Steve. “It sounds like you’re suggesting a rehabilitation program for troubled youth.”

“As I said, you are perceptive,” Fury compliments with another dangerous smile. “You ever heard of something called a Suicide Squad?”

“Isn’t that some sorta DC movie?” Steve’s really confused now.

“Yes and no,” Fury vaguely confirms. “Look, just consider my offer. Sit on it for as long as you need, but if you’re interested, I’m only a phone call away.”

Steve hesitates and then pockets the card. 

Fury signals to someone over Steve’s shoulder before an unmarked vehicle rolls up to the curb. She opens the back door but doesn't climb inside, pausing once to say, “Listen, this is all a need to know basis. Let’s keep it that way.”

Steve understands she’s telling him to basically keep Tony as uninvolved as possible. He reluctantly nods once.

Satisfied, Fury climbs into the unmarked vehicle completely before it drives off. 

Steve spends several minutes afterward to silently ponder the offer before he continues the trek home.

.

.

.

When Steve gets home, Peter has calmed down enough to rest in Tony’s lap where they are both settled on a throne of pillows at the head of his and Tony’s bed. 

Peter’s cheeks are red and streaked with dried tears as he clings with two fistfuls of the MIT sweatshirt Tony’s thrown on.

“Hey, fussy,” Steve teases as he sets the bag of ‘goods’ on the bed. “Giving your Oma a hard time, huh?”

Tony rolls his eyes with an indulgent smile as Peter frowns curiously at the bag while he hiccups in sets of two. He seems perfectly at ease with being curled up naked in Tony’s lap as the older Omega rubs his back to keep him calm. He looks content to stay right he is for the rest of eternity but he also looks like he wants to know what’s in the bag.

Steve watches as curiosity wins out as Peter crawls over to him to pry open the bag. He tries not to laugh at the indignant and outraged expression that marks the three-year-old’s adorable and chubby features.

“No,” Peter whines, slapping the pull-ups angrily. “No want! No baby!”

“Hate to break it to you, kiddo,” Steve starts calmly but sternly. “But technically, as is, you need this. What, you wanna keep peeing everywhere?”

“I - I tell you. Tell you when potty,” Peter whimpers, bottom lip wobbling as he fights back tears, jutting his chin stubbornly to try and look brave. “I tell you. Promise! No pull-up. Please.”

Steve keeps his expression neutral as possible as he carefully drops to his knees and leans his elbows against the edge of the bed to meet Peter’s watery gaze. “We can work up to that when it’s daylight, okay? But I need you to prove that you can be a big boy about this and work with me. Your dad and I aren’t trying to humiliate or embarrass you. I promise.”

Peter’s bottom lip wobbles all the more and he shakes his head.

“It’s this or someone’s gonna get a rash. Most likely you, or maybe even us if you keep peeing on us,” Steve remarks and fights back an answering grin when Tony snorts, watching the interaction with sleepy interest. “Come on, Braeburn. Let us take care of you in the ways your body needs, okay? Just until we can get this worked out.” He nods towards Tony. “Your Oma’s the smartest Omega on the planet, no doubt, but he’d probably figure out a solution quicker if he was well-rested and a little less stressed, yeah? We gotta remember there’s a baby involved here too. You gonna make us stay up all night arguing about this?”

There are silent tears steaming down Peter’s cheeks as he rubs at his eyes in tired frustration. Eventually he shakes his head no and lies down, staring woefully up at the ceiling.

Steve takes that for the sign it is and grabs the lavender lotion first and gestures for Tony to help him out. “Ma says this’ll help him relax enough for sleep. I can go and see if I can find him some pajamas.”

Tony shuffles over and holds out his hand to take the bottle of lotion, squeezing a generous gob of it on his palm. “What do you think, Peter? You up for a massage?” he asks as he rubs his hands together with a grin.

Peter blinks up at him slowly and shrugs his tiny shoulders but lifts his tiny foot in offering.

Tony snorts, charmed, and gets to work.

Steve leaves them to it, making the trip up to the attic, where his Ma says she’s keeping all his old childhood stuff she hasn’t gotten around to donating. He finds two boxes full of clothes and shoes that look like they’ll fit Peter perfectly. He takes the haul back down and pauses in the doorway to watch the way Tony kisses the knuckles of Peter’s hands after he’s finished putting lotion on them.

Peter squirms, giggling and offers his hands again, even after Tony’s moved on to his shoulders.

Tony indulges him, exaggerating the kissy noises as he stamps kisses over Peter’s tiny knuckles while the younger Omega burst into delighted giggles again, cheeks rosy with his good cheer.

“Da?” Peter says softly after they've both settled down.

“Yeah, munchkin?” Tony says distractedly as he moves to rip open the thick plastic packaging of the nighttime pull-ups, reading the instructions on the back with visible interest.

“I - I sorry,” Peter apologizes, squirming nervously on his back like an anxious worm. "Everything. Anything. Sorry."

Tony grabs his small hand and kisses the back of it as the younger Omega looks up at him with absolute adoration. His side of the bon is sparkling with ruby reds. He says, “It’s okay. This is tough on you. I’d probably act like a little gremlin if I suddenly found myself more than half my own size. But Steve’s right, you know - this’ll all be a lot easier if we just work together. You think you can be reasonable from now on?”

Peter nods quickly. 

“Good. Good boy,” Tony praises, combing his fingers through Peter’s thick curls, scenting him as the three-year-old purrs and sighs at the affection. “Let’s get this on, pup. Come, up, up, up.”

Peter curls away with a giggle when Tony tickles his naked sides. He stands on shaky legs and reaches out to grab at Tony’s shoulder to steady himself while they work in tandem to get him into the pull-up.

“See now,” Tony sighs, making a few adjustments. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

Peter shrugs his tiny shoulders and climbs into Tony’s lap to rub his face against the side of Tony’s neck where one of his most prominent scent glands rests with a yawn.

Tony lets him with an amused grin, rubbing his palm up and down Peter’s back.

Steve smiles widely, something warm and affectionate grows and expands in his chest. The love he feels for these two seems endless, and he has to clear his throat as an emotional wad tries to expand and make his eyes go hot.

Tony glances at him but Peter stays firmly tucked into the side of his neck. “You got something?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies and sets both boxes on the ground near the legs on their nightstand. He takes a moment to fish through them for a pair of footie pajamas with Elmo patterned all over them. “Hey, Braeburn, come over my way for a sec so I can get you dressed.”

Peter whines playfully before he waddles grumpily over to Steve and collapses dramatically in his lap in a way that gets both him and Tony to laugh. He doesn’t fuss as Steve gets him all tucked into the outfit, zipping the zipper all the way up to the collar and snapping the button that will keep the zipper in place.

Steve watches the way Peter tries to fight his sleep, rubbing his chubby fists against his eyes as he gives these cute little yawns. It’s just then that he remembers his Ma's suggestion, and unearths the Spider-Man sippy cup and a pack of PediaSure he got. He spends a few minutes in the bathroom rinsing the sippy cup out for he returns to sit on the edge of the bed with it. He pours the nutritional shake in the sippy cup and offers it to Peter, who looks at it blankly before giving Steve a look.

Tony snorts and nudges him. “Same team, remember?” he says.

Peter huffs and gives them both a dry look before he snatches the sippy cup and crawls fitfully back in Tony’s arms to curl up in his lap. He stares at the sippy cup like he’s internally debating, squirming fitfully as he yawns again but sighs in agitation when he finds he can’t really sleep by his own efforts. With a light blush, he gives a testing suck, brow furrowing in concentration before he relaxes, seeming to like the vanilla flavored drink.

Steve moves around to change into his own sleepwear, and by the time he returns to bed, Tony is lying on his side amongst the mound of pillows with Peter curled up against him.

The tiny Omega has one chubby hand still holding the sippy cup up while he uses the other to play absentmindedly with his own ear as though trying to soothe a continuous itch. He’s blinking slowly, whiskey brown eyes muddled with exhaustion but contentment. He looks at Steve lazily from the top of his sippy cup when the Alpha climbs into the other side of the bed and kicks his leg out until his foot bumps Steve’s stomach with a soft thud.

“Ouch!” Steve’s hisses dramatically, grabbing Peter’s tiny foot to hold to his heart. “Oh god, that’s a rib. That’s - yup, that’s definitely a shattered spleen. Oh my colon! Oh my kidney! Oof, ouch. Mercy.”

Peter’s smiles around the spout of his sippy cup as he stares at Steve with the same sort of half-lidded fond amusement that Tony is aiming his way as well. They’re practically mirrors of each other, twin faces gazing back at him with a look packed with warm affection.

Steve almost gets winded with the way that - _that look right there_ \- sucker punches him in the gut with fist-sized love and devotion. He wants to bottle that look, put it on a shelf like a trophy he can proudly display as proof that two of the greatest Omegas in the world _love_ him.

“Papa fake,” Peter mumbles around the spout of his sippy cup, grinning smugly when it gets Tony to burst into hysterical laughter he has to quickly stifle by slapping a hand over his mouth, his side of the bond bleeding with mischievous purples. 

“I think you mean to say _faking_ , pup,” Steve dryly corrects, even as the corners of his mouth twitch at how all sweet and innocent Peter tries to look but that’s definitely the sassy gaze of a fourteen year old aimed back at him. 

Peter kicks playfully at Steve’s chest with both of his feet, quickly shutting his eyes to pretend he’s sleeping when Steve sends him a look for it.

Steve huffs and shakes his head as he shares an amused grin with Tony, who’s watching the exchange with sleepy amusement as he absentmindedly strokes and combs his fingers through Peter’s wild curls. 

Tony looks so soft and paternal at that moment, his mouth curled in a half-grin with his other arm pillowing his head, making his sweatshirt ride up a bit and exposes a stripe of abdomen where the baby - his baby - no _their_ baby - lies in wait. That thought alone makes Tony look all the more soft; so pretty, so warm and inviting.  

There’s a carnal part of him that craves a more intimate closeness. If they were alone right now, Steve would definitely be giving Tony a deep dicking; slow grinding inside of him until he came apart with euphoric tears in his eyes, really make sure his sweetheart was properly bred. He quickly pushes past the thought, locks it away for later when it’s safe to explore.

Tony yawns suddenly, rubbing at his eyes, stubbornly fighting his sleep in the exact same way Peter had just moments before. 

It makes Steve’s mouth stretch out into something dopey and fond.

Now that Steve knows to look for it, he spots the beautiful pregnant glow Tony has, which makes him look very elegant and ethereal. It makes Steve’s heart race, gallop, and then _soar_ to remember over and over again that Tony is having _his baby_. Christ, there’s no greater feeling in the world, nothing he could ever be able to put in words with how happy that makes him - how complete.

“And he’s out,” Tony announces quietly, carefully propped on one elbow to study the slack face of the three-year-old Omega.

Steve watches in amusement as Peter makes a grumpy sound, tightening his hold of the Spider-Man sippy cup with a whine when Tony tries to carefully extract it.

Tony scoffs and gives up when Peter’s death grip won't relent. “He didn’t even want to use it to begin with,” he points out, shooting Steve an exasperated look that’s met with quiet laughter. “Now it’s his best friend.”

“Better not tell Little Ben,” Steve jokes lowly just to get the pleasure of hearing Tony snort.

Tony yawns and rubs at his eyes again.

“I should cut the lights,” Steve says, getting up to do just that, grabbing the microfiber comforter that had somehow wound up on the floor during the commotion of Peter’s tantrum earlier. 

Tony grins sleepily at the way Steve drags the covers up the bed to tuck his precious Omegas in with painstakingly careful affection. “You’re so ridiculous,” he remarks quietly with audible fondness.

Steve huffs, dropping a kiss to his cheek before doing the same with Peter, who grumbles and rolls towards Tony’s chest, nuzzling into the older Omega.

Tony combs his fingers through Peter’s wild curl, scenting him ever so slightly just to help the three-year-old drift and settle. He murmurs, “What are we going to do about tomorrow?”

Steve shrugs under Tony’s half-lidded gaze. “Half of the day is going to be just us anyway. If Bucky’s doing most of the grilling, which he usually does, we’d be better off showing up later in the afternoon when everything’s ready. We don’t have to go if you don’t want, but I can briefly explain about Peter to avoid chaos and confusion.”

Tony mulls that over before he says, “At this point, we’ve got no choice but to be transparent with our situation here. I mean, it’ll do more help than harm to not have to lie about who Peter is and where he came from, at least amongst family and friends, you know? I trust them to not go and blab to the local media or anything. We don’t have to tell them every excruciating detail but we can tell them just enough that they can understand,” he supposes in a diplomatic way.

Steve can understand that, which is why he agrees without any pushback. 

Tony hums and starts doing that thing he does where he wiggles his foot gently to rock himself to sleep when he needs the extra push. “Happy birthday, lamb,” he mumbles with his eyes closed. “It’s midnight.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks, honey,” he replies, grabbing the hand wearing the engagement band so he can kiss at Tony’s knuckles. He can't resist the temptation to nibble at them just to get Tony to snort at the unexpected action, yanking his hand back to give Steve a mock sleepy-eyed glare that’s ruined by the affectionate half-smile he’s wearing.

“Menace,” Tony accuses but presses that hand to cup Steve’s cheek, scenting him for a long stretch of five minutes before he’s satisfied enough to pull away and finally drift off to sleep.

Steve stays up a bit longer, just admiring the two slumbering Omegas curled around each other, thinking about how lucky he is that he gets to have something like this. Never in his life had he imagined that it would ever get to witness such a thing.

It makes him think about how dangerous the world is, about Hydra’s insidious reach and influence, and he knows, deep down, that he’ll eventually accept Fury’s offer for that reason alone. He's always had this sort of drive to give his life to something bigger than himself, aimed towards the greater good of humanity.

 _Be apart of the change you want to see happen_ , Steve thinks as his exhaustion starts catching up with him. _That’s what my old Scout Master used to say. You don’t join a fight just to fight. You join the fight to end the fight and submit to peace._

Steve thinks that Tony would understand, that he’d be in support of it. Maybe one day, perhaps after he’s retired the lifestyle and has the go-ahead to confess to all the things he’d done to help ensure peace, he can prove himself right by telling Tony the truth. 

After all, by then, Steve’s sure the world will be in a better place. He just wants to be a key player in making that happen.

.

.

.

Steve feels like he’s only slept for two minutes when his Ma comes to get him so they can honor his Da’s memory by lighting a memorial candle for him just as the horizon bleeds with reds and oranges with the sunrise. He puts on an extra layer to combat the chilliness of the early morning while they stand out in his Ma’s garden.

The candle is dark blue, his Da’s favorite color, short and thick from where it’s settled in its holder.

Steve cups his hands around the base as his Ma begins singing a Celtic lament with a steady, beautiful voice while she lights the candle to begin the ritual of remembrance. He gives in to the urge to cry, as he does every year at this time, saving all his heartache, his anger, and feeling of loss for such a time as this.

Sarah ends the song with tears in her eyes that spill over her cheeks as she cups her hands over Steve’s to help him hold up the candle to the sky before they set it down on the patio table to burn itself out. 

They sit at the table with it, just letting the lull of nature hum and sing around them as they watch the steady rise of the sun while the gentle summer breeze dries their tears.

Soon they will take turns talking to the spirit of his Da’s ghost, which they have invited to dwell amongst them for this short period of time.

Sarah clears her throat after a while to go first and says, “Shelter’s doing well, love. Nothing new there. You always said I had more rights to it than any other Alpha that might attempt the same feat. But I look at all their helpless faces and I see you. How could I turn them away or treat them as cruel as the ones they fled from? I wouldn’t dare. Not when you’d be so ashamed of me over it.” She sighs and continues to talk, “Have you ran into Morgan yet? I’ll bet anything you’re together now, looking after each other, hugging and kissing one another. Though it crushes my heart to be without him, I know he must be reunited with his family. I want that for us someday, not anytime soon, mind you. But it makes death a little less fearsome.”

Steve places a hand over hers and gives a comforting squeeze.

Sarah smiles at him as she goes on to say, “But enough about me. You should hear what your son has been up to, Jo. Go on then, _A stór_. Tell your Da how busy you’ve been.”

Steve laughs a little at that. He says, “Da, I’ve been given a treasure. His name is Tony and you would love him if you met him. Maybe next year I can introduce you.” He pauses as something occurs to him and a big, goofy smile spreads across his lips. “Christ, just realized that this time next year, you’ll be a grandpa. We’re having a baby, Da. My Omega continues to bless and enrich my life with things I never thought I could have or even deserve. And I just - I just want to give him _everything_ , you know? All the brightest stars in the sky, the prettiest seashells of the sea, the peace and calm of the Moon - anything worth stealing to show how much I appreciate having him in my life. He makes every day better than the last. I’ve asked him to marry me. I mean, we are married now, but that was for - for selfish reasons.”

Sarah snorts and adds, “That’s marriage in a nutshell, regardless.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Steve agrees with an amused grin. “Anyway, that’s not even the crazy part. Let me tell you about Peter …”

On and on, Steve and Sarah take turns talking to his Da, catching him up on everything he’s missed since last time. 

It brings a sense of peace and calm to them, as it does every year for as long as Steve can remember.

When the candle flickers out, wax completely melted, Steve joins Sarah in giving his Da their final goodbyes, releasing his ghost back to paradise to continue eternal rest and peace. They usually do that by singing _Danny Boy_ in its original untranslated version. 

When it’s all said and done, they rise and pull each other in a hug, scenting one another with familial affection before going their separate ways, ready to take on the day as they continue to carry that weight of peace with them.

.

.

.

_You have added Sam Wilson and James Barnes to the group chat “Brooklyn Boys :p”_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** happy 4th of Steve

 **areyoufalconserious:** gross

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** i hate that joke  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** it stopped being funny after the first time

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** thanks for the feedback but i refuse to change  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** so …

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** whatever just make sure to bring some extra charcoal like i asked when you come over

 **areyoufalconserious:** i can bring it

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** are you in town???

 **areyoufalconserious:** yeah figured i’d come thru since my boo thang already out here  
 **areyoufalconserious:** why  
 **areyoufalconserious:** you don’t want my company

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** not gonna beg you  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** do or don’t flyboy

 **areyoufalconserious:** see that’s why nobody like yo bitch ass

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** you love my bitch ass

**areyoufalconserious:  
  
**

_brooklynfisticuffs emphasized areyoufalconserious’s image_

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:  
  
**

**brooklynfisticuffs:** ok wow lol

 **areyoufalconserious:** now what the hell that mean???  
 **areyoufalconserious:** ya’ll KNOW i don’t speak bible

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** Galatians 4:16, "Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth?"

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** ;)

 **areyoufalconserious:** you really make me sick sometimes

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** ;)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hey listen   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** speaking of the bbq later  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** there’s something i need to tell you

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** don’t tell me you’re bailing  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** you know how much i been looking forward to meeting the O that’s finally made you honest

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** relax we’ll be there but  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** you guys remember when we used to joke about what we would do if time travel was real?

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** yeah and i said i’d use it to travel back and bang mother mary so i can claim to be the father of god so you'd have to pray to me if you wanted anything  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** and you got your little catholic feelings hurt  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** stopped talking to me for like two weeks lmao

 **areyoufalconserious:** omfg yessssssssss  
 **areyoufalconserious:** stevie was TOO BLEW

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** buck you can go kick rocks and step on broken glass with no shoes on  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** be serious with me for a minute  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** this is going to sound crazy so i need you both to keep an open mind

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** now i’m really curious

 **areyoufalconserious:** ditto

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** right so  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** it all started when tony and i were still in virginia

.

.

.

Steve makes a late breakfast after his long texting session with a bewildered Bucky and Sam, who, after a while, takes Steve’s confession at face value with dumbfounded acceptance. After they get over the initial shock though, they are all too eager to meet Peter in a kind of wholesome way that makes Steve both pleased and wary.

Steve presses thoughts of how obnoxious his best friends will be later today to the back of his mind so he can concentrate on dividing his attention between cooking buttered biscuits, turkey sausage, and cream of wheat laced with maple brown sugar and cinnamon. 

His Ma has long since left, preferring to have breakfast with the cooks down at the shelter before they get to work with supplying those in need with warm meals throughout the day for those staying at the shelter, as well as the less fortunate roaming the streets. She had wrestled down Steve’s old high chair from the attic, making quick work of putting it together before she left as a favor to Steve and Tony.

Steve made sure to relay how grateful he was for that before she left, but she merely waves him off with twenty-nine birthday kisses to his cheeks, as she’s done every year, ignoring his halfhearted protests.

“D’ya know I don’t care how old you get,” Sarah had teased when she pressed the last kiss to the middle of his forehead. “You’ll always be my wee darling. Happy birthday, _Mo mhuirnín_.”

Steve smiles to himself as he thinks about it before he blinks out of his thoughts and turns the stove off just as the smell of food lures his sleepy and rumpled Omegas from the basement.

Tony’s hair is as wild as Peter, who Tony has perched on his waist when they enter the kitchen.

Steve kisses Tony first before ducking down to kiss Peter on the cheek, who still hasn’t opened his eyes and gives a grumpy whine at the affection, pushing Steve back after a minute or two when the Alpha lingers. 

“Yeah, he’s not a morning person, turns out,” Tony comments with deep seeded amusement, his side of the bond glimmering with purple-tinted reds and pinks. His whiskey brown eyes are dancing with mirth as he adds, “Wonder who he gets that from.”

Steve pretends to have no idea as he takes Peter from him to sit him in the high chair settled in the dining room next to the long table. He pauses as he watches the way Peter folds his small arms over the tabletop tray to drop his head tiredly on top of them. He’s combing his fingers through Peter’s wild curls as he says, “You think we should feed him ourselves?”

Peter gives a protesting whine. “Me. I do it,” he complains from the cradle of his arms. He doesn’t push Steve’s hand away or lift his head, however. A true sign of how tired he is.

“We’ll give the munchkin a chance to feed himself,” Tony decides benevolently as he sits at the table, grabbing his tablet and instructing Little Ben to scan Peter. “FRIDAY, do we have any footage of what happened last night?”

“ _Certainly, Boss. Little Ben’s lenses constantly monitors and records,_ ” FRIDAY replies and Tony makes a curious sound at that. “ _Though he’s got most of it on a gridlock. I can convince him to forward the footage from last night._ ”

“If you could. And be nice about it, baby girl. Tell him how important it is in the long scope of things,” Tony instructs.

Steve sets a plate of food in front of him with a fresh cup of ginger tea, dropping a kiss to the top of his head before returning to the kitchen to fix Peter’s food. He urges Peter to sit up for it after he approaches the high chair. He sets the small plate down on his tray when he does before leaving the tiny, sleepy Omega to it.

Tony is snickering to himself when Steve returns to join him at the table, sitting to his immediate left. He says, “This kid is something else. Look at him.”

Steve leans back in his seat to get a good look and when he does, he laughs.

Peter is using one hand to keep his head upright by pressing his forehead into the open palm of his chubby hand. He’s using his other hand to hold up a spoonful of porridge to hover wobbly near his pursed mouth as he blows and blows. The funny thing about it all is that Peter is doing this with his eyes shut the whole time, all of his movements are sluggish and yielding the same grace and coordination of a zombie.

Steve calms down enough to say, “Hey, Braeburn, you awake over there?”

Peter chews and chews before he finds the energy to respond, “Yes.” but still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Steve snickers but decides to leave him alone so he can dig into his own food.

“Mm, this is - Steve, what is this?” Tony asks between bites, pointing his spoon down at his plate.

“Cream of wheat. Different than oatmeal but kinda in the same family.”

“Yeah, no this is _way_ better than that,” Tony insists, ignoring the funny look Steve tosses him for that. “God, why haven’t you been making this the whole time instead of making me choke down that cement concoction you call oatmeal?”

“Gee, tell me how you really feel,” Steve drawls and snorts when Tony knocks his elbow into his side. 

They spend the rest of breakfast watching the holographic footage FRIDAY has obtained with the help of Little Ben, showing exactly what Peter had done to the time-watch before it backfired and de-aged him.

Tony takes a few notes, rewinding or replaying specific moments to zoom in on so he can study it with a shrewd and calculating gaze. He makes thoughtful and tactical noises as he mutters to himself between the bites he takes while also simultaneously dismantling Peter’s time-watch, gutting and hollowing it out to observe all the sum of its parts.

Steve likes watching him work and he’s sure Tony notices in that absentminded way of his, but his silence is basically his permission, so Steve eats with his mouth and feasts with his eyes.

“FRIDAY scale that image twelve percent,” Tony instructs between bites, self-confident and focused, brown eyes flaring with a sort of cunning. “Actually let’s take it to an eight - good, perfect. Now reverse that shot, angle just four inches to the west side of the room - yup, just like that. Okay, now pause there. Can you get any readings about the molecular components stemming from the energy field Peter gets swallowed in? Also time it for me - start to finish. Go ahead and round that to the nearest whole number.”

“ _Sure thing, Boss. Forwarding the results now. Where would you prefer them?_ ”

“The laptop should be fine. Record the diagnostics there too. I want you to match that against any coinciding published articles that have to do with cell regeneration, space exploration, and recent quantum metaphysical breakthroughs.”

“ _On it_.”

Steve stands to get another serving of food, grabbing Tony’s plate as well when the Omega asks for more cream of wheat and another biscuit. He notices that Tony hasn’t touched his turkey sausage so he asks about it.

“Dunno,” Tony says, shrugging distractedly, hands never pausing between the holographic display, the keys of his laptop, and the small parts of the time-watch. “I took a bite and it just, uh, wasn’t agreeing with me. Not that it tasted bad, but, like at the same time it didn’t really taste like anything to me either. Could be the baby. I have no problem with meat usually but she seems to not like it. Ugh, I hope she’s not trying to turn me into a vegetarian or something.”

Steve huffs, finding the idea funny but makes no comment about it, deciding he’ll continue to watch Tony during mealtimes to figure out what he likes. He turns to ask Peter if he wants more but the kid is already fast asleep again, though his plate is empty. 

That’s something at least.

Steve shakes his head fondly and collects Peter’s plate, taking it to the kitchen with him to dump in the sink. He fixes himself and Tony another plate in short order.

Neither of them can find satisfaction until their fourth plate, and by then, most of the food is gone.

Steve feels full, content, sleepy but good. He pours Tony his third cup of ginger tea and a second cup for himself. He then backtracks down to the basement to grab a new pull-up for Peter, as well as his sippy cup, and the thick packet of homecare instructions Tony’s doctor gave him, bringing it all back upstairs with him.

He pours some apple juice in Peter’s sippy cup to bribe the sleepy three year old into letting himself get changed into a fresh pull-up without much fuss or struggle. He zips the tiny Omega back up into his Elmo footie pajamas before pulling Peter close to curl up in his lap as he sits against a throne of pillows in Peter and Tony’s makeshift nest. He rocks his legs under Peter, who is curled up against his chest and stomach, to send the younger Omega back into a light doze as he reviews Tony’s homecare packet line by line.

All in all, it’s a pretty peaceful late morning routine that Steve could find himself getting used to.

.

.

.

Peter is chaos on two legs when he’s lucid, energetic, and bored. 

It starts with the climbing. The godforsaken climbing!

Peter likes to climb any and everything, babbling cheerfully, “I climb! I climb! Look it!” from his new perch on top of the dining room table, the stairs, the fire mantle in the living room, the _fridge._

Steve can’t even begin to work out how Peter managed that one. He’s become a broken record when he grabs Peter from somewhere up high and dangerous, scolding, “Peter, will you _please_ stop taking everything being bigger than you now as a personal challenge? Please. My weak heart will thank you.”

Peter giggles, squirming in his arms as he says, “Sorry. No climb no more.”

“Uh huh,” Steve replies, setting him on his feet and then he has to roll his eyes when Peter goes jetting for the stairs. The _thump thump thump_ of Peter climbing the stairs quickly one foot at a time echoes throughout the house. 

“You know he’s only doing that to get a rise out of you, right?” Tony remarks from where he’s playing around with the holographic version of Peter’s time-watch while also scribbling out messy formulas on his whiteboard. “He likes having your attention,” he adds, lips curled into an amused grin.

As if to prove Tony’s point, Peter shouts, from the top of the steps, “Papa! Wanna get down!”

Steve huffs fondly. “It’s cute but I wish all his efforts weren’t such a workout,” he admits as he makes his way to the stairs to give Peter a playfully stern look. “What happened to no climbing?”

"I forget."

"Oh, you forgot? Just that fast, huh?" Steve switches to French in his exasperation, saying, " _Vous avez probablement une mémoire photographique pour tout ce que je sais._ "

Peter just rocks on his heels innocently with a toothy grin as he replies, " _On va voir, Papa._ "

Steve knows his face must be doing something ridiculous because even Tony laughs from where he is in the dining room. He'd probably laugh himself if he wasn't too busy reeling at how goddamn smart his little Omega is.

Peter looks way too satisfied with himself from where he's looking down a smug half-grin that is as charming as when Tony does it. Then he crouches down slowly.

Steve’s eyes widens. “Peter - Peter, don’t you dare -”

Peter jumps with a loud whoop and laughs maniacally when Steve _barely_ manages to catch him.

“Peter!” Steve snaps, more terrified than upset. His heart is trying to bash his ribcage open. There's no way he doesn't have grey hair sprouting all over. “No. Absolutely not. You do _not_ do that.”

Peter tries to wiggle out of his arms but Steve’s grip, while gentle, is steadfast.

“Hey, tiny mister, come on. Listen to me. That’s not okay. You could’ve cracked open your skull!”

Peter suddenly slumps in his arms and pretends to be sleep.

Steve makes an exasperated sound as he fights back a laugh at the audacity of this kid. The corner of his mouth kicks up as he struggles to remain stern. “Oh you are _not_ sleep, little duck. Open those eyes.”

Peter exaggerates a loud snore, eyes still shut, mouth curled into a smile as he tries to replicate something that sounds like a baby elephant learning how to use its trunk for the first time.

Tony’s snickering in the dining room.

Steve sighs as a hiccup of laughter catches him off guard at Peter’s antics, making the small toddler in his arms grin smugly, eyes still closed. “Peter Benjamin Rogers,” he calls with a soft warning. “You’re about to get a rude awakening.”

Peter doesn’t even twitch, eyes still firmly shut as his snoring escalates.

“Fine.” Steve sits at the bottom of the stairs to start tickling him with a grin. That grin grows into a tender smile at the way Peter’s giggles roll through the house like bubbly thunder, vibrant and heartwarming as it echoed against the walls with a charming buoyancy. “Are you sorry yet?” he asks, laughing himself.

Peter shakes his head stubbornly, face cherry red with his mirth.

Steve goes on tickling him until Peter really shrieks with delight. His adorable laughter comes in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again.

“S-sorry! P-papa, I s-sorry!” Peter squeals, squirming with tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

Steve has mercy on him and holds Peter close so he can catch his breath in peace against his chest. He waits until he is sure Peter is calm and can listen seriously. He says, “You’ve really got to stop climbing things though. I know you can find a safer way to get my attention. The next time will earn you a serious timeout. Understood?”

Peter says, “Yes.”

“Good boy,” Steve praises, dropping an affectionate kiss to the top of his head, smiling into Peter’s wild curls when it makes his son preen and squirm with self-satisfaction in his lap. “Tell you what, if you’re so bored, we can go root around the attic and see what toys I’ve got up there. How does that sound?”

Peter shrugs, squirming until he’s standing precariously on Steve’s thighs so they can be eye to eye. He blinks curiously at Steve for a few moments before he maneuvers himself around the Alpha so he can climb onto Steve’s back with the help of the stairs.

Steve backtracks to let Tony know that he’s taking Peter up to the attic, and also to try to steal a kiss that Peter intercepts by virtually climbing over Steve’s shoulder to put his face between theirs so they kiss his cheeks instead.

“Slick, kid,” Tony mumbles against his cheek, kissing it before pulling away to pinch at the chubby softness of it. “Have fun up there. If you come across an old ham radio, I call dibs.”

Steve shifts Peter so he’s settled against his back once more. “You got it,” he agrees before carrying Peter off to climb the stairs two at a time, exaggerating each step to get Peter to bounce against him with a giggle. 

The attic is a cluttered maze, dust hovers wherever light cascades in from a vaulted ceiling, the beams meeting in a series of arches. It’s a cardboard box graveyard of relics from the past.

Steve grabs the box marked as ‘toys’ and carries it back down to the dining room with Peter in tow. He has to catch Peter from falling on his head when he tries to squirm down Steve’s back in all the excitement. 

This time it’s Tony who’s scolding him to be careful, having witnessed the near-miss first hand with a startled hand to his chest and exasperated concern.

“I sorry,” Peter promises, waddling over to hug Tony’s leg and look up at him with a wide-eyed puppy stare.

“Aw, geez,” Tony complains as he melts under that gaze. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

Peter giggles before ducking under the table to crawl out on the other side where Steve is with the box of toys at his feet. He tips it over so that all of the contents spill out into a nosy, clattering mess on the floor.

“ _Peter ... arrête, petit imprudent._ ” Steve sighs with a huff of astonishment, briefly noticing out of the corner the way it makes Tony flush with barely concealed interest as his side of the bond darkens a few hues deeper with licorice reds and pinks. Interesting. “You definitely didn’t need to see it all at once,” he goes on to say.

Peter merely grins, tongue in cheek, waving Steve closer so they can sort through it together.

In the end, nothing besides a remote-controlled car holds Peter’s attention. He shuns everything else.

Steve hunts down a handful of batteries for both the car and the remote while Peter follows him around like an impatient duckling. He hands everything over to the three-year-old so he can have his fun, smiling at the little curious furrow Peter’s brow does as he studies the remote to figure out how it works.

With being Tony’s son, it’s no surprise that Peter accomplishes that in just under five minutes, making the car do impressive tricks and skills that were far better than what Steve was able to manage at his age, maybe even now.

Steve leaves him to his fun and wanders over to check in with Tony and the Omega explains he’s still trying to figure out how Peter got himself de-aged. He walks Steve through a few of his theories and seems very interested to hear any feedback Steve feels prompted to share.

“I think we should get you tested,” Tony teases when their intellectual discussion comes to a natural end. “Seriously, the way you’re able to keep up with me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, even among my own peers.”

Steve knows there is no earthly way to describe how pleased and honored he feels to hear Tony say that with such genuine admiration and respect while his side of the bond glimmers with rose gold pinks. He yanks Tony into a deep and probing kiss before he can help himself.

Tony tastes like ginger spices, warm and happy. The pheromones that begin to waft from him smell like fresh fruit and sugary candies. It’s mouthwatering; like being inside of a cozy bakery that smells of nothing but fragrant sweetbreads.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

The noise forces them apart, turning their bewildering gazes on Peter, who is bashing the car against the floor.

“Jesus, kid. What are you doing over there?” Tony exclaims as he wanders over to crouch down, reaching out a hand to still Peter when he goes to bash the car against the floor again. “Hey, what’s up? What’d the poor thing do to you - run over your toes?”

Peter blinks up at him before snorting. He says, “Get open. I get open. Slow. Make - make more fast.”

Steve has no clue what he’s talking about and he’s sure that shows in his expression when he joins them.

Tony has no such trouble. His face twists with clarity and amusement. “Ah, I see,” he says. To Steve, he explains, “He’s wants to tinker with the guts of the car and program it to go faster. Hand me that screwdriver over there, will you?” Back to Peter, he says, “Let me help with that, squirt.”

Peter nods eagerly and crawls into his lap, making himself comfortable so he can watch Tony pry the bottom hatch open with impressive quickness when Steve returns with the tool he asked for. 

“Talk me through it, you little mad scientist,” Tony encourages Peter as he reverse engineers the DC motor to get to, what he explains is, the Rx & Tx circuits. “Hey, Steve, you know - I might need you to help since the munchkin has decided to make a throne out of my lap. Also! This’ll be good for you to learn if you ever find yourself needing to make a transmitter because you're, let’s just say for scenario’s sake, you’re lost somewhere out in the wild because you like birdwatching or whatever.”

“Now that’s an amusing thought,” Steve interjects. "Especially since that's more of Sam's thing than mine."

“Hush, I’m still talking,” is Tony’s bratty retort. “Anyway, this is good for you to learn in case of emergencies. Now pay attention, boy scout. Peter - you were saying?”

Peter babbles happily in Tony’s lap and Tony translates for Steve while also making the Alpha fetch any tools he needs for their little quick upgrade project.

Steve finds that he really enjoys the time they spend on this, and he learns a lot from both Tony and Peter by assisting. 

They manage to find two more cars to upgrade and spend the rest of the afternoon racing against each other.

At one point, Peter seems content to watch them race against each other, rewarding the winner of each lap with gold star stickers he found in the toy box.

The funny thing is that they have to put an end to it all when he and Tony start getting _way_ too competitive over it. Both of their faces are covered in a wave of stickers anyway, so it’s pretty much a tie.

The next thing on the agenda happens to be the three of them rushing to get changed and properly dressed because they were running at least thirty minutes behind from when they were supposed to leave for Bucky’s cookout. 

Tony insists they wear matching shades of blue and Steve's a little too busy admiring the way Tony fusses over him and Peter after they've all dressed with a glimmer of possessive self-satisfaction in his beautiful brown eyes to really object.

.

.

.

Bucky barely makes it fifteen seconds before he hits on Tony after Steve introduces them.

Tony is more amused than flattered. He doesn’t flush or fidget shyly like he does when Steve flirts, and that alone is enough to keep him from getting jealous.

Besides, Bucky doesn’t mean anything by it anyway. He was born to flirt with any and everyone. He’s an equal opportunist that way.

Tony eventually leaves Steve at the grill with Bucky to go and make some friendly conversation with Bucky’s Ma and little sister, who are busy preparing the fireworks for the end of the night festivities.

Meanwhile Sam wins Peter over by bribing him with a popsicle and a sparkler. The two become nearly inseparable. The tiny Omega spends most of his time perched over Sam’s shoulders while the Beta walks around and interacts with everyone.

Steve fields a few ‘happy birthdays’ here and there, but no one makes a big deal of it, which he honestly prefers.

“It’s nuts how much the kid looks like you,” Bucky genuinely marvels, dividing his attention between flipping steaks or burgers, and watching the way Sam and Riley continue to dote on Peter, plying him with all the sweets he asks for. “Only, you know, ‘cept for the eyes. Those gorgeous browns are all Tony.”

“Don’t I know it?” Steve agrees with a fond grin, watching the way his Omega gets dragged into a watermelon eating contest by Peter so they can go against Riley and Sam. “They’re everything to me, you know?”

“Yeah, Stevie. I can tell,” Bucky promises with a laugh. “You know how? You’ve got hearts the size of Jupiter in your eyes when you look at them. Or when you talk about them. Or when you _think_ about them, you gushy sap.”

“Nothing to do for that, I’m afraid,” Steve replies with a grin. “Your hotdogs are burning by the way.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky spits but he’s quick to rotate said meat just as a precaution. “Listen, I gotta tell you something, but just be easy.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “What is it, Barnes? Spill.”

“So you know how you’d thought I’d find a good match in that doctor friend of yours? Well, we may or may not have been talking before I had to go deep. I, uh, I asked her out as soon as I landed. She said yes. We’re going to see the History of Lisa Frank exhibit they’re debuting at the MoMa this Friday.”

Steve blinks then gawks and he honest to god doesn’t mean to but he gives a deep belly laugh. “You - you’re taking her to a _Lisa Frank_ exhibit? That’s - you wouldn’t do that unless you -” He pauses and watches the way Bucky’s face heats up. “You really like her!” he exclaims with pure delight.

Bucky hushes him with a glare, flush deepening when everyone glances their way at the commotion, shoving at Steve. “Knock it off, Rogers. I told you to be easy! Christ.”

“I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Steve laughs before he manages to calm down. “You’ve never been this serious about _anyone_ you were interested in. How the hell am I supposed t’ pretend like that ain’t anything to make a big deal about?”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky isn’t outright denying anything, which is enough of an answer in and of itself. “Just … be easy, alright? You know how sensitive I am.”

Steve gives an ugly snort of skepticism at that which morphs into a full-blown laugh when Bucky shoves him again. His stomach gurgles. “You almost done, Iron Chef? I’m starving.”

“It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”

“You’re such a perfectionist. At least let me have a hotdog.”

“Now why would I do that? I give you something and then everyone’s gonna come running over thinking it's done. Which it nearly is so wait.”

Steve makes sure to sigh obnoxiously loud. While he watches Bucky flip the burgers, there’s a sharp tug on his pants. He looks down. 

Peter is holding up his hands, making a grabby gesture, the lower half of his face is covered in watermelon juice stains.

Steve picks him up, settles him on his hip, and grabs a nearby napkin to get him clean.

Peter does his best not to squirm, even though his nose wrinkles unhappily under the attention.

Bucky watches them both with transparent amusement. He waits until Steve is satisfied that he’s gotten Peter as clean as he can before he says, “Hey, little man. You know who I am?”

Peter nods confidently. He says, “Uncle Bucky.”

Steve nearly loses it at the way Bucky’s cocky expression melts into something soft and smitten. Christ, the guy’s eyes are practically glimmering with humbled tears.

“Yeah.” Bucky clears his throat and tries to quickly recover. “Yeah, that’s me. How’s life as a tiny tot treating you? Heard you’re normally bigger than all this.”

Peter shrugs, lips twitching in amusement as he watches Bucky man the grill with a sort of benevolent interest. “Weird,” he says. “Everything - everything big.”

“Big, huh?” Bucky nods as he considers it. “Like being in a land of giants, right? I get that. Well, it’s really nice to meet you, even if it’s sooner than planned. And I’m sure I’d love to meet the older version of you as well.”

Peter flushes, pleased. He nods enthusiastically before he points at the grill. “Can have?” he asks.

“You hungry? Even after all that watermelon?” Bucky whistles like he’s impressed. “Yeah, you’ve definitely got Stevie’s appetite.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a slight grin.

Peter snickers a little and then points at the grill again. 

“Which one? This one, right here?” Bucky taps the end of his spatula against a small burger and then scoops it up when Peter nods again. He presses it between two buns with cheese before handing it over. “What’s the verdict?” he asks with a playful smirk after watching Peter chew thoughtfully for a couple of minutes.

“Good,” Peter says between bites. Then he’s offering it to Steve, pressing it near his mouth as Steve’s stomach gurgles audibly. “You try.”

Steve does and shoots Bucky a smug look while he ducks down to take a bite. After he chews and swallows, “Thanks, Braeburn. It’s nice to see _someone_ have mercy on me.”

Bucky only flips him off when he’s sure Peter isn’t looking. “He’s a kid. What am I supposed to say no? I’m not a tyrant.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Steve cheerily replies as he ducks down to take another bite of Peter’s burger when the tiny Omega offers up his share again. “I’m good now, thanks,” he promises, kissing Peter on the cheek before setting him down again so he can waddle back over to Sam, who greets him warmly. “I’m glad you’re home, Bucky,” he says after he turns back to face his friend.

Bucky shoots him a warm look. “Ain’t really no place like it. Found that out real quick while I was elsewhere,” he admits and a shadow comes over his eyes. He seems to push it back and concentrates on the task at hand. “Leave it,” he says when Steve opens his mouth to ask him if he’s okay. “I got - Sam’s already on my case enough as it is.”

Steve could see that. He could really see that. 

Back in D.C., while Riley divides his time between his law firm and his campaigning, Sam is busy with the Veteran’s Outreach Center he spearheads for soldiers who need help with life after service.

“He worries about you,” Steve finally says after a long pause. “We both do. We all do. Everyone that matters.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure paralyzing my dirtbag of a sire didn’t help with that,” Bucky mutters darkly, white-knuckling the handle of the spatula before he forces himself to relax. “I’d never hurt Becca or my Ma like that.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly because he does. That’s not to say that he’s completely missed the deep bags resting under Bucky’s eyes. “How are you sleeping?”

Bucky scoffs. “I’m not,” he replies and turns the grill off. He glances at Steve and scoffs again. “Yup, that’s the exact same look Sam gave me when he asked. You know he wants me to come to Virginia? Stay with him a while. Try his two-week program. See if it can, I don’t know, quote ' _help me get back in touch with civilian life_ ' end quote.”

“You feeling outta touch or something?” Steve asks as his concern grows. For all the laid-back, carefree ease that Bucky exudes, it’s only because he’s good at putting on a happy face, having learned the skill at an early age since his home life had never been the best. “You know you can - you can talk to me. No matter the time. Day or night. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

Bucky shakes his head with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s got his walls up now, shoulders rigid with unease. “Better off spending all that energy on your family,” he says. 

“ _You’re_ my family too!” Steve snaps, upset. He refuses to let Bucky do that thing he does sometimes, downplaying his own worth so he’s not anyone else’s burden but his own. “Aren’t I?”

Bucky’s gaze goes vacant in a way that deeply disturbs Steve. He says, “We’re brothers. I know that.”

Steve hopes so. “Maybe you should take Sam up on his offer. Wouldn’t be the worse thing, you know? I think maybe if you gave it a try -”

“Sure,” Bucky interjects mulishly with a tone that says he’s really done with the subject. “Food’s done. You can let the others know.” He turns away without waiting for Steve’s reply, dismissive.

Steve can take a hint and as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as he wants to stand his ground, he knows better than to push the Beta when he gets prickly about anything emotional. Best thing is to let him sort it out himself for a bit before trying to push. So Steve leaves him to go around and announce that the food is ready.

Tony’s playing around with some graphs and metrics on his phone when Steve sits beside him in one of the bigger wicker chairs on the lawn, dropping a plate on his lap. “Thanks,” he says, absentmindedly. “You okay?”

Steve pauses mid-bite of his hotdog. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says.

“You sure?” Tony presses, still not looking at him, seemingly focused on the screen of his phone. “Because you’re side of the bond has gone all blue and grey. Which, for you, means you’re brooding about something and internalizing it.”

Steve huffs, caught. He chews, swallows, and then says, “Just worried about Bucky. Tell you more about it later. I’m fine otherwise. Promise.”

Tony nods and finally lowers his phone to face him with a grin. He says, “I was just looking at the market projections, tagging myself in connection with anything that has to do with Hammer Industries since, you know, I’m being groomed to take over. We’re doing well by the way.”

“That’s good,” Steve replies, smiling because Tony’s good cheer is infectious. He pays attention to the way Tony actively avoids all the meat on his plate to eat the potato salad, the baked beans, grilled yellow and green bell peppers, and he seems especially fond of the baked macaroni that has a film of cheesy, spicy red pepper glaze. He starts stealing some of the meat on Tony's plate so it doesn't go to waste.

Tony shoots him a playful look. “Wow. You’re just so sure I’m not eating that, huh?”

Steve takes another pointed bite of the strip of steak he stole off the Omega’s plate. He grins with a lifted brow. “You saving the best for last here or something, honey? _Were_ you gonna eat that?” he challenges.

Tony sticks out his tongue but doesn’t offer a rebuttal.

Steve snickers when Tony goes out of his way to dump the rest of his meat onto Steve’s plate just so he can give himself the permission to swipe the rest of Steve’s baked beans and macaroni.

“Yeah, so,” Tony continues at a few minutes of silent eating. “Hammer Industries stock doing well before the market closed for the holidays isn’t even the best part. SI stock has dipped significantly - an unusual trend since this past weekend was Stark Expo’s launch. The numbers usually thrive, but everyone was too busy mourning Spider-Man to do anything else.”

Steve laughs a little at the visible and audible vindictive glee Tony has over that.

“Also, look at this.” Tony hands over his phone to show him the group chat he has with Hammer and Ms. Everhart. Hammer has dropped a list of real estate options. “These are all the properties he owns both here and in California. He wants us to move into the penthouse floors he has at the top of the luxury hotel that’s right across the street from Hammer Industries in lower Manhattan. He owns the hotel, by the way, and lives there himself. The security is supposed to be top tier and that’s what Hammer is really pushing for, but I don’t know. I thought I’d talk to you about it first.”

Steve is intrigued by the thought of living downtown. He knows how expensive it is to do that, the kind of people who do, and he can’t say he _ever_ in his life thought that he would be one of them. It makes him both anxious and excited when it really sinks in how well off he and Tony are going to be from this point forward. This is new territory for him, having grown up with little means, to suddenly make the jump to upper class.

“I’m kinda out of my depth here,” Steve confesses because he might as well say it. Poverty is more traumatizing than the general public realizes. “I mean, I have no problem with following your lead about this. I - you know.”

Tony smiles softly and cups a hand over his cheek for the span of six seconds before pulling away. “It’s okay, lamb. You helped me get used to the leap away from a privileged life, so I’m gonna do the same for you. We can go through these lists and arrange a few viewings before we make a final decision. Just a warning, the listings in California are for secondary living arrangements. Hammer has a few important research labs out that way which he wants me to cover since he’s making me the Department Lead for the faction of clean energy research until he steps down. And that's just to start.”

Steve finds that really interesting. “Sounds like you’re gonna be keeping busy.”

Tony gives a tired smile and shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t have to worry about that until less than ninety days from now when my ‘adoption’ goes public. I’m just going to be shadowing Hammer and getting to know the business in the meantime, mainly because I’m not an MBA, so I’m pretty much gonna be picking up the tricks of the trade on the fly. There’s more we should talk about when it comes to how the elevation of our status will play out, being under the public eye, that sort of thing. But I’d rather hold off on that until tomorrow night. If that’s okay with you?”

“That’s fine. No rush,” Steve promises and they leave it at that. 

When everyone has had their fill of the food, Becca ropes Peter into helping pass out the homemade Fourth of July cupcakes she made from scratch, beaming with pride when she’s met with all sorts of compliments.

Tony nudges him at one point, jutting his chin at Peter, who is being chased by Bucky after having stolen one of his cupcakes while the Beta wasn't looking.

Steve smiles at the way Bucky throws Peter over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes while Peter goes on eating the cupcake as he kicks out his legs when Bucky tickles him. 

Things calm down enough for them all to enjoy the fireworks Winifred sets off with the help of Sam and Riley.

Fireworks burst through the dark night in fiery blooms amongst the stars. All across the neighborhood, people contribute their share of vivid colors to ignite the otherwise black sky from the comfort of their backyards.

It’s the only thing Steve really enjoys about this day, besides getting to spend it amongst beloved family and friends. He’s especially fond of the way all those sparks light up Tony’s skin, glowing as a reflection in his curious brown eyes. There’s a soft smile curling at the edge of his lips as he remains enthralled by the fiery light show above.

Steve knows he’s staring, but his Omega is so pretty, he can’t help it.

On the way home, Peter has finally run out of steam, curled up on Tony’s lap, cupcake frosting smeared all over his lower face, absolutely dead to the world. 

Tony smiles down at him with amused fondness, face glowing with paternal pride and adoration. He makes a lovely vision that Steve is powerless to resist. 

So he doesn’t.

Under the passing street lamps, as well as the fireworks still blooming above them in the skies outside of the cab they’re taking home, Steve kisses Tony with deep, burning devotion at every red light the cab stops for.

They make it to a count of fifteen before they reach home.

.

.

.

Later, sometime well past midnight, when Steve and Tony have managed to get Peter settled for bed and Tony joins him in slumber not long after, Steve hides away in the backyard to pull out the nearly blank business card given to him by Fury.

Steve dials out and waits.

The line beeps and beeps, not like a normal ringing one would expect when calling someone, and then it connects. The voice on the other end says, “ _Thank you for calling the Metropolitan Museum of Art - how my I direct your call?_ ”

Steve is a bit confused, not sure if he misdialed. “Ah, I -” He pauses to clear his throat. “Ms. Fury, please.”

“ _Who should I say is calling?_ ”

“Steve Rogers.”

“ _One moment._ ” The line goes dead.

Steve pulls the phone away as he stares at a list of his most recent calls. Before he can make sense of why he was hung up on, his phone buzzes in his hand with ‘unknown caller’ blinking back at him. He answers with a tentative, “Ms. Fury?”

“ _Mr. Rogers,_ ” Fury greets back. “ _We’re on a secured line. How can I help you?_ ”

“Tell me more about your - about the job.”

Fury hums with perceptive amusement. She says, “ _There was a solution, in light of your husband’s AI’s recent discovery about Hydra infiltrating the ranks of SHIELD, that World Global Security came up with. They’re calling the project the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people who have, instead of using their extraordinary talents for the capacity of good, decided to use them for rather harmful and selfish reasons. It was then decided that rather than serving some life-long sentence, they be given the opportunity to be re-introduced to society by offering them a second chance to get it right. We want to see if they can use their remarkable skills for a better cause, for something more. See if they could work together for the common good when we needed them to fight the battles our own agents never could._ ”

Steve considers that. Then he says, “How do I get involved?”

“ _I’m glad you asked._ ”


	32. YEAR 1: PART VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - this contains Jessica Alba!Susan Storm

**snowwhiteprivilege:** hungry

.

.

.

Tony wakes up to the alarm Steve must have set for him the other night. He reaches out to cuddle his Alpha close without opening his eyes. But to his disappointment, there’s nothing but pillows and the warm indention of sheets where his fiancé should've been. 

No matter. 

Tony still has a small squishy-soft cuddly Omega he can curl up with. Honestly, there’s no better feeling than the tight affectionate squeeze of small arms around his neck. That combined with the warm sugary scent of cinnamon spice and peaches that mix so well together and Tony’s in paternal heaven. There are parts of him that never wants to let Peter go when he’s in his arms.

Yeah, there's really something special about - wait. What the hell?

Tony pats all around him and is met with just more pillows and warm indentions in the mattress. He frowns heavily, you know, like a man or whatever and peeks open one stern eye to see nothing but an empty bed.

“Okay, that’s just - that’s rude,” Tony complains aloud, nothing but his own voice echoing back at him in reply. “Definitely not how I like my mornings,” he grumbles, stretching fitfully before he rests a hand behind his head. The other one travels south to rest over his lower stomach. “At least I’ve still got you with me, Jellybean. Mostly because for the next nine months you’ve literally got no choice, but eh, let’s not split hairs. Although we do need to talk about you turning meat into the enemy. That’s definitely not helping us be any more drift compatible. I’m trying not to complain, really I am, Jellybean. This is just feedback, so don’t take it to heart ...”

This one-sided conversation continues throughout his morning routine, his shower, and even while he's getting dressed in some dark jeans, a maroon button-down and one of Steve’s cashmere sweaters (the grey one). He’s really not trying to stand out, wanting to savor his anonymity while he still could. 

After Tony climbs into his sneakers, grabbing his wallet, his phone, and his keys, he trots up the stairs to find Bucky and Peter sharing a tub of strawberry ice cream between them at the dining room table.

Peter is babbling energetically about the face of Bucky’s wristwatch between spoonfuls. He’s already dressed for the day: tan chino pants and a forest green cable knit sweater. He’s swinging his feet idly from where he’s sitting on the ledge of the dining room table.

Bucky is beside him, his hair in a bun, white t-shirt, blue washed jeans and a yellow and black plaid shirt tied around his waist. He’s staring at Peter with this look of fond bemusement, indulging the tiny Omega even though it’s clear he doesn’t understand a word of what Peter’s cheerfully prattling on about. He looks like he’s desperately trying to.

Tony fights back a grin at that and tries to fix his face into something stern. “Are you feeding my kid _ice cream_ for breakfast, Barnes?” he asks sweetly, tone light but sharp.

Bucky’s on his feet in a seconds, standing at attention as though his superior officer has just entered the rooms. “It’s yogurt,” he swears, laughing nervously. “Frozen yogurt.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it’s not,” Bucky sighs, shoulders slumping with very put-upon shame. “In my defense,” he goes on to say, holding up his hands to show he’s harmless before pointing to Peter. “He’s very crafty. And persuasive. Super influential. But more importantly, look at that face.” Then in a stage whisper, he adds, "Okay, Pete - do the thing just like how we practiced."

Peter laces his fingers under his chin with a toothy smile, batting his eyelashes as he tried to look as innocent and adorable as possible.

“You see that?” Bucky exclaims. “How am I supposed t’ say no to _that_ and not immediately die where I stand? Impossible. Also, I’d like to mention that Steve never said ice cream was off the table when it came to breakfast.”

Tony rubs his hands over his face, hiding his exasperated amusement before he drops those hands to give Bucky a look that’s only met with a sheepish grin. He says, “Yeah, I'm not buying it. You can relax, however. I think it’s a hilarious loophole I'll have to try sometime actually.”

Bucky huffs, looking a bit thrown by that and his posture seems to deflate. “Yeah, should’ve figured you're the fun parent,” he replies. “It takes a good sense of humor to put up with Stevie.”

“Don’t be rude,” Tony laughs, walking over to snatch the spoon from Peter, ignoring the high-pitched complaints aimed his way. He scoops out some ice cream and savors the sweet coolness. “Where’s Steve anyway?” he asks after maybe four or five bites.

Bucky swipes the carton of ice cream from him so he can continue to grab his portion as he sits down again. “With Sarah at the auto repair place just about six blocks south of here. Car wouldn’t start and Steve didn’t like the looks of the Beta that came with his tow truck to haul it to the garage. He insisted on riding along.”

Tony considers that as he licks thoughtfully at the back of his spoon. Then he eyes Bucky, taking in the pronounced bags under his eyes and thinks over the things Steve said last night about his concerns for his childhood friend. He can see what his Alpha meant when he said there seems to be an unseen dark cloud hovering over the Beta soldier’s head.

“Anyway,” Bucky sighs, halfway deep in the carton of strawberry ice cream. “Thought I’d stick around, look after - uh. Hang on. Where is he?”

Tony blinks and notices that Peter is missing but before either of them can panic, the tiny Omega is strolling back in with a spoon he must have retrieved from the kitchen.

Bucky sighs in relief and scoops Peter up with a mock growl. “We oughta put a bell on you, Pete. You’re too light and too quick on your feet. Like a bunny. Hey! That’s what I should call you. Peter Cottontail.”

Peter snorts wryly and shakes his head before wiggling out of the older man’s arms to climb onto the dining room table to get at the ice cream carton, curling his little legs around the bottom of it as he digs in.

Bucky huffs fondly, ruffling Peter’s wild chocolate curls affectionately. “Yeah, so, I thought I should stay behind and look after this little fella. Steve did most of the hard stuff before he left anyway, getting him dressed and all that. He just told me to feed him and keep him company.”

“Which you have succeeded, obviously,” Tony jokes, nodding at the carton of ice cream Peter is monopolizing while Bucky grins with a shrug. “You could have woken me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth does this odd tick as his expression tightens for a moment. “S’not like I have anything else going on. I’m not active and, uh, I’m not too fond of, you know, auto shops. My sire was a mechanic, so no fond memories there.” He gives this sort of jerky shrug, fingers drumming anxiously over his thighs. “Besides, I’m not such a beast that I’d deprive a gorgeous thing like you of your beauty sleep.” He gives a showy wink.

Tony is fully aware that Bucky is trying to sidestep any follow-up questions about something that’s clearly hard for him to talk about, let alone mention offhandedly, and he decides not to push. “So what were you and Tiny Tot talking about?”

Peter shoots him an annoyed look for that one. 

Bucky grins amusedly before flicking the top of Peter’s ear playfully. “Watch how you look at your Oma, _кролик_.”

" _не приятно, Uncle Bucky!_ " Peter slaps a hand over his ear with a dramatic look of outrage and betrayal.

Tony laughs and uses Peter’s distraction to swipe the tub of ice cream from him to shovel a few spoonfuls in his mouth. This is definitely not on Dr. Cho’s approved meal plan but hey, the whole charm of diets was the cheating aspect, right?

“I think he was trying to tell me something about all the parts to these gadget thingamajigs,” Bucky explains, fighting down a half-smile as Peter tries to climb all over his shoulder with cute grumpy noises. “Gotta admit I wasn’t exactly able to follow and I can’t fully say it’s cause of his baby speak.”

Tony snorts and plucks Peter from off of Bucky’s shoulders to perch him on his left hip. He gives the tub of ice cream over to the Beta man and says, “I think I can guess what he was trying to tell you.” He turns to Peter and asks him what the fuss was all about.

Peter babbles, making grand gestures to Bucky and then to Tony’s toolset and then back to Bucky before making a very sedate ‘ _tick-tock_ ’ clicking noise with his tongue.

Tony smiles, overloaded with feelings of fond amusement while Bucky watches them both with open curiosity. Tony says, “Yeah, so, kid genius says you’ve got a broken ticker.”

Bucky frowns, brow furrowing. “I got a what now?”

“Your watch,” Tony clarifies, pointing to it. “Peter thinks it’s about two-eighths of about thirty seconds too slow. Slower than what it should be at least. Something is -” He pauses to think of the right words to use. “It’s not reaching its full potential. The inner gears sound too gummy to him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says, staring at Peter in amazement. “Steve was right about you being unbelievably clever.”

Peter’s cheeks get a little pink but he wiggles with self-satisfaction at the mention of his Alpha boasting about him in such a way. He shrugs modestly. “Can help.” He reaches out and pats the face of Bucky’s wristwatch. “Can help?” he asks quietly, staring up with those puppy dog eyes of his. “Make - make better. Please, Uncle Bucky?”

Bucky melts under that gaze and blinks quickly like he’s trying to hold back actual tears. He clears his throat and says, “Yeah, _кролик_. I’d love that.”

Peter beams and looks at Tony.

Tony rolls his eyes and gets the bigger picture. “Right, so I’m acting as your hands again, huh? Fine. We have a little time before we’ve got to get going.” He looks to Bucky and holds out his hand. 

Bucky hands over his watch, listening attentively as Tony prompts Peter to guide him through the upgrading process.

Tony works as Peter gives his babbling lecture. Tony translates the speech for Bucky the same way he has to do for Steve sometimes. And honestly, for all of Bucky’s flirtations in the midst of it, his eyes never stray past Tony’s shoulders and his language is never inappropriate. He’s nothing but respectful. Tony really likes that about him and can see why Steve has been friends with him for so long.

After Bucky’s watch is repaired and works better than ever, he says, a little bit nervously, “So, uh, you’re really good friends with Dora, right? Steve said you guys - that you two - uh, you’re close.”

Tony can see where this is going and he nods while holding back an amused grin, gesturing for him to continue.

“Right, so with being such good friends with Dora, you’d probably, uh, might possibly know what her favorite flower or candies might be?” Bucky rubs the back of his neck shyly. “We’ve got this - I’m taking her to the opening of the Lisa Frank exhibit this Friday and I wanted to - I’d rather not show up to her doorstep empty-handed.”

Tony thinks that’s really sweet. He says, “She likes wildflowers laced with lavender. We got wasted one time and she said that it made her think of her best days helping people when she was still doing Doctors Without Borders. And she also likes dark chocolate covered coffee beans - she keeps a bag at home on her kitchen island and at her desk at work. Not the kind you get from a local convenience store for just short of a buck but the fancy stuff from the Swiss chocolate store in Midtown.” 

Bucky mulls that over with a dedicated nod. “Thanks,” he says. “What about her son? Does he - should I bring him something?”

Tony’s not even sure what Eddie likes but Peter interjects, “Gummy bears. He love. Always eating. Always.”

Bucky gifts Peter with a half-smirk. “Oh yeah? Thanks, kiddo. I’ll keep that in mind,” he promises, ruffling Peter’s hair affectionately. Then he stands, stretching as he says, “You know, since you did me a few solids, I’d like to return the favor. First of all, you did _not_ hear this from me, but Stevie’s planning on asking your new sire for your hand, all traditional like.”

Tony feels a warm rush of tender affection and his heart skips a beat at the thought that Steve really is sincerely taking the whole engagement and marriage redo thing seriously. “Oh,” he says, voice a bit wobbly. He clears his throat to recover. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Letting you know what? I ain’t say anything,” Bucky reminds pointedly with a wink. Then he goes on to say, “Don’t waste your money on cab fare. I can take you into the city if you need it.”

“If you don’t mind,” Tony agrees, grabbing Peter to rest him on his hip as he walks around to grab the Spider-Man backpack he got the first time he and Steve went grocery shopping together, filling it with extra clothes and pull-ups for Peter, as well as snacks. He puts his earpiece in, just to have FRIDAY close, then grabs his tablet, which is holding all of the vital information he needs to share with Dr. Banner as they head out and gives Bucky the address for Hammer Industries.

Peter sits in the back in Steve’s old car seat occupying himself with a game on his phone while he playfully argues with Bucky over the music selection during the whole ride.

Tony is too busy scratching his head over the text that Gwen sent him during the early morning hours to really pay attention to the commotion.

He replies to it with a question mark, asking her if she’s okay as it's the first text she’s ever sent to him in a long while since the lab incident but there’s no response. He takes a screenshot and sends it to Miles and the younger Alpha promises to investigate by stopping by Gwen’s the first chance he gets.

Tony puts it to the back of his mind and tries not to fret.

.

.

.

 **youknowwhoiam:** me and peter made it to work safe and sound  
**youknowwhoiam:** just in case you’re wondering :)  
**youknowwhoiam:** bucky gave us a ride and volunteered to pick us up later

_brooklynfisticuffs loved youknowwhoiam’s ‘me and peter made it to work safe and sound’ message_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m sorry i wasn’t there to see you off with hugs and kisses

 **youknowwhoiam:** too late you're dead to me now   
**youknowwhoiam:** jk bucky told me what’s going on  
**youknowwhoiam:** how are things?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m just really glad riley is here  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** whole crew was trynna charge ma waaaay over marketprice  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** but her car should be repaired by tomorrow morning so that’s something

 **youknowwhoiam:** you know i could’ve fixed her car too, right?  
**youknowwhoiam:** i know you know that  
**youknowwhoiam:** i wouldn’t have asked for much except maybe my own serving of her delicious plum pudding

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** listen  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i said that to ma  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** i told her you could but she didn’t want to bother you  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** she thinks you’ve got enough on your plate without her adding to it

 **youknowwhoiam:** i love that woman lol  
**youknowwhoiam:** i really wouldn’t have minded

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** you can tell her that when you see her next  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** she’s not hearing it from me

_youknowwhoiam liked brooklynfisticuffs’s ‘you can tell her that when you see her next’ message_

**youknowwhoiam:** anyway i’ll catch you up about my day later  
**youknowwhoiam:** i’ll probably bother you when i’m doing all the boring HR stuff tho

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** never a bother honey  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** love you - have a good day :)  
**brooklynfisticuffs:** take care of both my babies (that also includes you too)

**youknowwhoiam:  
**   


_brooklynfisticuffs laughed at youknowwhoiam's image_

**brooklynfisticuffs:** your so gd cute lol

.

.

.

After Tony grabs a nameless visitor's badge for himself, he walks over to the extended line stretching out from the one working elevator with Peter on his hip.

Apparently, according to crowd chatter, building management was working hard to get the other seven elevators up and running because they had mysteriously gone offline due to an unexpected power surge that happened while the cybernetic veins of the steepled glass tower had undergone an automated system update. The system update should have been seamless but was turning out to be anything but.

“ _A lot of floors are out of commission due to no power,_ ” FRIDAY explains when he asks her to take a look. “ _Entry scanners are also not registering badges properly, locking people out of their offices, out of workshops, out of labs, and out of conference rooms._ ”

Tony hums thoughtfully at that. He’d like to get a good look at the blueprints of this place and its systems. He has a feeling Hammer would let him if he asked about it. So he decides he will ask about it because having to stand in line with most of the workforce for nearly an hour is definitely not good for business nor morale. He glances down at Peter, who decided he wanted to stand on his own after the first fifteen minutes of them waiting.

Peter’s watching some kind of youtube tutorial on how to mix ballet with parkouring.

Tony wonders if he should be worried about that and he makes a mental note to watch Peter closely, just in case the tiny Omega gets any ideas about what he’s learned.

“ _Incoming call, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY announces. “ _It’s Mr. Hammer_.”

Tony rolls his eyes and tells her to put the him through. “I’m here,” he promises by way of greeting.

“ _Yeah, I know. I can see you,_ ” Hammer cheerfully replies and Tony glances around. “ _The cameras, kiddo,_ ” he explains.

Tony feels a bit tempted to make a rude gesture at one of them but he refrains. “I want access to your servers,” he simply replies. “I’ve been stuck down here for over an hour, and I’m not the only one that’s really super thrilled about it. The masses are full of unhappy chatter. Is this really a weekly ordeal?”

“ _It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ve been having a specialized team of tech engineers look into it,_ ” Hammer lightly remarks, sounding partially offended and put out. “ _Still, what a way to start, huh?_ ”

Tony snorts because that was putting it mildly.

“ _I’ll get you the access,_ ” Hammer goes on to say. “ _If anyone can make things more efficient, it’s you, little star. My expertise lies mostly on the business side of things. I dabble with tech here and there but I’ve never been good at it. I mean, I get the idea behind it all but the end results are … let's just say that it’s a good thing you’re such a whizz at it because I have absolutely nothing to teach you that you couldn’t figure out yourself or don’t already know when it comes to engineering. Boy, the lawsuits we’d face if I was actually designing things.”_

Tony laughs a little and shakes his head. “I like this humble side of you,” he jokes and his smile widens when Hammer scoffs with no real heat behind it. “Where are you right now?”

“ _My office with very cold breakfast that’s been sitting here as I waited for you and the adorable kid no taller than your knees beside you. You gonna explain why he looks so much like Peter?_ ” 

Tony glances down at Peter and then around for cameras he can’t really pinpoint without FRIDAY’s help. He says, “I’ll explain later. It’s - it’s a lot.”

“ _I look forward to hearing it, but I’ve got to run off to a series of boring meetings that Ms. Everhart insists I can’t miss,_ ” Hammer complains with a sigh. “ _Let’s meet for lunch. HR should be done with you by then, yeah?_ ”

“Maybe,” Tony says with a shrug because he has no idea really.

“ _We’ll make it a late lunch then. How do you feel about sushi?_ ”

Tony normally loves the stuff but he’s pregnant and Steve had informed after reading his home care packet over a dozen times that he should be avoiding any and all seafood. He says, “Not really in the mood for it. I can do veggie tacos.”

“ _Veggie tacos it is. Also, Christine wants me to sit in for the final interviews she’s scheduled with the pool of candidates for your PA and your bodyguard. Were you joining?_ ”

Tony hadn’t planned on it. He trusts Ms. Everhart’s judgment implicitly. He still really wants to keep his anonymity for as long as he can for the next three months. He says as much to Hammer.

“ _Gotcha. No worries. She’s not actually letting me make any long-standing decisions about this anyway. I’m basically a centerpiece - something to do with how she wants to see how they react to my ‘glowing personality’ and how if they work for you they’d have to deal with me too the majority of the time. Hey, doesn't that sound like an insult to you? She insists it’s not. But I don't know. I'm feeling some type of way._ ”

“No comment,” Tony laughs as the pool of people he stands with finally becomes the next to use the only working elevator. He lets Hammer know he’s on his way up and Hammer lets him know where to meet HR and where his office is located so it’s easy to find when they meet up for lunch. 

Peter is notably anxious when the elevators open and everyone quickly files in.

Since Tony was at the front of the crowd, he gets pushed more towards the back of the elevator to the corner but he’s not blind to the way Peter fists his chubby hands into the fabric of his jeans, practically hugging Tony's left leg. He scoops Peter up and holds him close, making a concerned sound when Peter shivers. “Hey, munchkin, what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

Peter hides his face in the side of Tony’s neck. He mumbles, “Don’t like - like small spaces. Too much people. Tight. Scary.”

 _He’s claustrophobic,_  Tony realizes, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Peter’s trembling back. “FRIDAY,” he says really quietly. “Best way to combat claustrophobia?”

“ _Amongst the millions of results populated for how to cope, one of the top suggestions is to embrace logic against the fear,_ ” FRIDAY suggests. “ _Distractions work well too_.”

“Right,” Tony sighs and hopes beyond hope that he can do this right. He turns so his back is to the rest of the crowd while the elevator goes from floor to floor, people piling out and newcomers pooling in. He combs his fingers through Peter’s hair, scenting him calmly as he murmurs, “You’re safe with me, Peter. We’re okay.”

Peter nods against his neck but still shivers.

“You’re okay,” Tony repeats, a quiet promise. “The elevator is not going to collapse, there’s plenty of air for us all and, yes, the ceiling is low and you’re not going to like it, but it’s going to be fine. I won’t let anything happen to you. Keep breathing with me, _bambino_.”

Peter does really well with following those instructions and, eventually, the car empties until it’s just them and one other person. He relaxes enough to loosen the tight circle he made with his arms around Tony’s neck and even braves lifting his face so he can glance around at the call buttons to see how much further they have to go.

It’s bad timing what happens next. It’s really all it is - just bad timing.

They are only ten floors away from their destination when the elevator jerks to a sudden stop; the inside becomes a wash of frantic ringing and red alarm lights.

A scratchy voice comes in from the intercom but it’s all mostly static jumping around the sound of someone trying to speak.

Peter starts quietly crying, his little heartbeat is nearly audible.

Tony rocks him a bit as he glances at the woman they’re trapped with but she seems very calm, despite the situation, if not a little irritated.

“You getting any of that?” she asks, pointing to the intercom, and she smiles wryly when Tony shakes his head. “Yeah, me either,” she sighs, blowing a lock of her blonde hair out of her face. She’s very pretty and very tall. She’s wearing a cream-colored pantsuit with patent leather high heels. She’s sporting the same visitor’s badge that Tony has. She has the scent of an Alpha and she smells like peppermint but also, strangely enough, the scent of ozone (basically oncoming stormy weather). “God, and at the worst possible time too. I’m already over an hour late for my interview and I _really_ need this job,” she confesses, sounding a bit desperate.

“I can fix it. Possibly,” Tony says and wanders around the four corners of the elevator to look for a power source, as well as the hatch that will allow him to get to the guts of the elevator’s hardware and gears. He finds it just on the edge of the west wall but he can’t really get to it with Peter in his arms and the tiny Omega is still silently crying as well as clinging to him like he plans on never letting go. “Peter, _bambino_ , I need to put you down for a moment, okay?”

“No!” Peter wails and finally lets out some audible sobs. He’s panicking and that’s exactly what Tony doesn’t want. “No! Please! Da! I stay! Stay with you!”

Tony stops trying to carefully ease him away because Peter’s crying has reached a different pitch that’s absolutely heartbreaking to hear. He waits a few moments, politely ignoring as the Alpha watches them with interest and sympathy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I just - I’m gonna fix this quicker than waiting around for firefighters and all that. I can get us moving again but I need both hands for that.”

Peter continues to cry and doesn’t loosen his grip once. 

“Peter?” the Alpha woman says, carefully stepping up to them, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “I got that right, didn’t I? His name is Peter?”

Tony nods, watching her carefully.

“Well, Peter, I just want you to know that you are very brave,” she goes on to say. “You are,” she promises cheerfully when Peter shakes his head, tears streaming down his pink cheeks. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes being brave doesn’t always feel like you think it should. But, you know what I like to do when I’m afraid and I need to be brave?”

Peter hiccups but he’s calming down slightly, blinking at the Alpha with tearful curiosity.

“I carry around a paper clip,” the Alpha goes on to say and she holds it up so the tiny Omega can see. “And you know what I do with it? I take _all_ my nervous energy, _all_ my fear, and I push it right into this little guy until I’m left with nothing but confidence. Would you like to try it?”

Peter sniffs, hiccuping once, twice, and then rubs his chubby fists against his wet cheeks. He nods and holds out a hand.

“There’s a trick to it, though. You’ve got to stand on your own for a little to make sure it’s only sucking up all the bad energy you want to let go. You think you can do that? I think you can. You’re a brave one, like I said.”

Peter looks uncertain, glancing at the soft, encouraging smile of the pretty Alpha woman and then to Tony.

“Up to you, munchkin,” Tony promises, rubbing his trembling back affectionately. “But she’s right. You are brave.”

Peter hiccups again but the tears sliding down his pink cheeks have slowed immensely. He mulls it over before he nods and lets Tony set him on his feet. He turns and stares up at the statuesque blonde with adorable wet brown eyes and holds out his chubby hand again.

She kicks off her heels and falls into a graceful sit before him with her legs crossed under her like a pretzel so she can be eye level with him. Most Alphas wouldn’t have bothered to do any of this but she’s going out of her way to help them both out here. “There now,” she says after she’s handed the paperclip over. “How does that feel?”

Peter rubs the paperclip between his small fingers, he bites his bottom lip shyly but nods. “Better,” he mumbles.

The Alpha beams proudly. “That's the magic of the paperclip!” Then she adds, looking a little sly, “And you didn’t even notice that your Oma fixed the lights and it’s quiet now.”

Peter blinks and glances over to where Tony is elbow-deep in the elevator’s hardware and gears, using the tools he had stashed at the bottom of Peter’s Spider-Man backpack for emergencies just like this.

Tony had used Peter’s momentary distraction to get to work, turning off the alarm siren and the annoying flashing red lights first. He connects his tablet to a few of the circuits and says, “FRIDAY give me some readings. What are we looking at here?”

“ _Bugs, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY replies in his earpiece. “ _Bugs everywhere. This is definitely malicious intent. Someone is trying to hack this facility’s mainframe. Would you like me to follow and root out the source? I’m getting readings from a hub in Kansas._ ”

“Kansas, huh? Yeah, since they are being so adamant about screwing things up here, go ahead and return the gesture, baby girl,” Tony dictates and pushes for a system reboot for the entire building, which is going to suck for any and everyone who hadn’t saved their work up until now, but it’s a necessary evil. 

FRIDAY says, “ _Looks like the mainframe is supposed to be better about debugging itself but they are using old templates for such a new building.”_

Tony huffs. Figures. “No wonder things keep crashing.” He pulls up all the codes attached to Hammer Industries server interfaces, happy to see that Hammer made good on his promise to allow him the highest level of security clearance to get access to them. “Now what is _that?_ ” 

The final diagnostic hovers over the screen of his tablet in holographic form; the results flashed red.

During the commotion of the Kansas Technocrate trying to clumsily hack their database, a new line of code had activated, one that was trying to suck all data in connection with any upcoming special projects that were set to make a killing in their respective markets.

" _An extrapolation_ ,” FRIDAY confirms in his ear. “ _They were hired by a shell corporation that seems to be, but not exactly, connected to Viastone._ ”

“Viastone!” Tony exclaims and nearly laughs. “Oh this is just too good. Please streamline all the lower subroutines into one and forward it both to security, engineering, and Mr. Hammer. I’m attaching a permanent fix that they can duplicate and prime for mass release.”

“ _On it, Boss,_ ” FRIDAY chirps. “ _Elevators should come online shortly._ ”

“Perfect,” Tony mutters before he disconnects and replaces the cover of the elevator hatch, dusting himself off to face Peter and the Alpha keeping him entertained. “We’re all set. Thank you.”

Peter scurries over quickly, lifting his arms and Tony scoops him up, tickling his sides to get him to giggle.

“It’s no problem! Peter’s an absolute delight,” she promises as she stands, going in search of her shoes. She holds out her hand to him in offering when she finds them and puts them on again. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. My name is Susan Storm. You can call me Sue, though.”

Tony shakes her hand just as the elevator starts moving again. “Anthony Rogers,” he greets in turn, making a mental note of her name. “You can call me Tony. You’re already acquainted with Peter,” he points out, playfully pinching the tiny Omega’s side to get him to make that adorable face he does when he tries to look stern.

“Yes and again he was an absolute pleasure. Thank you for getting us out of this jam, though I don’t know what good this’ll do me,” Sue says with a regretful sigh.

Tony fights back an answering smile as he casually says, “Oh, I don’t know. I hear they are pretty understanding here. I mean, it’s only my first day but - I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Especially because Tony was going to personally see to it that she gets hired for whatever she’s applying for.

Peter looks a little amused by the exchange as well, catching on to Tony’s scheming as he nods his head to agree.

“One can only hope but I’ve been disappointed before,” Sue admits, fidgeting anxiously as the elevator stops on her floor. “This is me. Hopefully, I’ll see you both again.”

“I’m sure you will,” Tony says and waves a little less enthusiastically than Peter does as the elevators close. “Hey, FRIDAY. Connect me to Mr. Hammer.”

“ _Connecting now,_ ” FRIDAY replies.

“ _Anthony!_ ” Hammer bellows with his usual dramatic flair and Tony winces before rolling his eyes. “ _I was just about to call you. Boy, leave it to you to get caught in the crossfire of the ongoing turf wars with my rival companies. You okay?_ ”

Tony wonders if he should be surprised that Hammer sounds genuinely concerned but shrugs it off. “I’m fine. Obviously,” he replies. “Nothing I can’t handle but I’d like to do something about the set up you have here for your servers so we can avoid things like this. Also, listen, there’s a woman named Susan Storm and she’s on her way to interview for something, I don’t know what, but I want you to hire her.”

“ _She left that good of an impression, huh? Aw, look at that, she’s good with kids._ ”

Tony can feel one of his eyelids twitching. “Are you - are you watching the footage from the elevators?”

“ _Yeah, of course,”_ Hammer replies as if it’s no big deal. “ _My guys down in security know to keep an eye on you. I was alerted the moment you were in jeopardy._ ”

“I wasn’t in jeopardy!” Tony argues, exasperated. “Stop stalking me. Hire Susan Storm.”

“ _Yeah, no can do to that first part. You are precious cargo, little prince,_ ” Hammer remarks. Then he whistles sharply like he’s impressed. “ _Susan Storm. Pretty, isn’t she? Yeah, I’ll get her onboarded as soon as the background check clears._ ” 

“Thanks,” Tony replies despite his annoyance with the older Alpha. “Okay bye.” He has FRIDAY hang up just as the elevator doors open to the HR department. He checks in with the receptionist, ignoring all the curious looks everyone is shooting him because he has Peter on his hip and waits until he’s cleared to sit down with the HR Operations Manager.

He can count on _both_ hands how many times people walk up to him assuming he’s either lost or waiting for his Alpha. 

He grins sharply and corrects them every time.

.

.

.

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** hungry

.

.

.

The next couple of hours is just as boring as he knew it would be. He has to deal with piles and piles of virtual paperwork he has to fill out, and virtual courses he has to attend: security, privacy, and compliance review, competition law awareness, data protection, travel and expense policy, empathy, sensitivity and sexual harassment, so on and so forth.

Peter keeps himself busy by playing a few games with FRIDAY on Tony’s tablet from where he’s curled up in Tony’s lap. The both of them are in a privacy pod so Tony can complete the required company courses in peace and quiet. The HR Operations Manager checks in on him every so often until he’s able to communicate that he’s finished.

From there the HR Operations Manager passes him off to the Head of Office so they can get all of his company-sanctioned equipment (laptop and smartphone), which, Tony will have to talk to Hammer about redesigning and upgrading for better user interface and quality’s sake. Then he’s taken to his first office (apparently he has two) which is across from Hammer’s on the top floor where all Department Leads keep their main office.

“If you want to redesign the theme more to your tastes, let me know and I’ll get you connected with Bowen,” Gloria, the Head of Office, says as she watches Tony and Peter explore the area. “Bowen is in charge of our ergonomics equipment and furniture.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Tony replies, taking a moment to sit down behind his lavish desk to turn and face the windows, which gives him a perfect view of lower Manhattan.

“Are you ready to see your secondary office down in R&D for Clean Energy?” Gloria asks, multitasking by fluttering her hands over her tablet and dictating a few things to her PA.

Tony shakes his head as he stands. “I’m not ready to make that official yet. Might not happen until the end of the summer. There are a few other things I have to take care of before I take the reigns officially. Though, could you see if there is an internship spot position open down there? I’ll take it on.”

Gloria looks thoroughly amused. “Undercover boss, huh?” she says with a hearty chuckle. “Justin did the same thing before he took over. Like minds, as they say. Yes, I’ll have something set up for you by the end of this week. Sound good?”

“Yes, thanks,” Tony says and watches as the older Beta woman gives a friendly wink to Peter before exiting. He looks down at Peter, who’s sitting in his chair, making it spin. “Are we ready for tacos or what?”

Peter nods and jumps out off the seat, following him across the hall to Hammer’s office.

Tony shoots Hammer a text to let him know he’s free to eat and the older Alpha promises to be up shortly with the food and some good news. He calls Steve and talks to him while he waits, catching him up to speed on his exciting first day of work so far.

Then he hands the phone over to Peter, upon Steve’s request because the overprotective Alpha wants to make sure the tiny Omega is okay after the recent scare. He watches in amusement as Peter babbles in French to their Alpha, face lighting up with such warm affection and good cheer as they talk and talk and talk.

Hammer shows up sometime later with a fresh food platter of veggie tacos he claims to have swiped from one of the building’s many cafeterias. They all settle down in the cozy dining space Hammer has in one corner of his office.

Tony explains the sudden appearance of a miniaturized Peter after Hammer promises to be the soul of discretion. 

Hammer is nothing but amused and unbelievably understanding, even going as far as boasting that it’s not the craziest thing he’s ever seen. “Remind me to tell you about Namor the First,” he goes on to say. “Back when my old man was still running contracts with the Navy, he - you know what? This will take the entire day. Let’s park that for now. Go back to telling me where Bruce factors into all this.”

“That’s yet to be determined,” Tony merely replies between bites, suddenly feeling starved. He grabs as much as the spicy green sauce and sour cream he can get and just drenches his food with it. “Also, Steve and I decided to go ahead and redo our engagement. And since we're getting married again, Steve, the romantic traditionalist, is going to ask you for my hand. You’re not allowed to say anything other than yes.”

Hammer’s eyes dance with mirth. “I’ll say yes,” he says casually as he chews on some homemade chips. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with it.”

“No. No fun. Whatever you are thinking in that devious head of yours, do the _opposite,_ ” Tony insists as he reaches over to wipe guacamole from Peter’s mouth, ignoring the annoyed look he gets for his efforts. “You said you had good news?”

“Did I?” Hammer teases, leaning back in his seat to wink at Peter. “Suddenly I’ve forgot. I don’t know. I’ll try and think of what it was, but in the meantime, tell me something. I have over five hundred people staffed in my global security for Hammer Industries worldwide. Why were _you_ the only one that caught on to the glitch that wasn’t a glitch? Scratch that, none of them are you obviously, that’s why. Mystery solved. Let’s talk about what you found instead, how you found it, and your creative solution.”

Tony indulges the Alpha as the older man hangs on his every word with keen interest and a glimmer of pride that Tony’s not really used to from anyone other than Steve. But for all his obnoxiousness, Hammer is pretty easy to talk to and just as quick on the uptake, not shy about asking questions or pretending to understand when he doesn’t. 

“Well I’ve already upped your security clearance so it matches mine,” Hammer says at the end of it all. “Whatever you want to do to keep us covered and protected, I trust you. Just keep me and Christine in the loop. Well, Christine more than me because she runs the place if I’m being honest. I’m just a glorified figurehead.”

Tony snorts but nods. “How are we doing on the bodyguard and PA situation?” he asks, cracking open some sparkling water to soothe his burning mouth.

Hammer suddenly looks way too amused. “That’s the good news. Well, as fate would have it, Susan Storm was - you remember Susan, don’t you? Ms. Storm was one of the many, many, _many_ \- and I cannot stress this enough - _many_ interested candidates applying for the PA opening. Christine didn’t specify _who_ it was for, but she indicated that it was for a Department Lead when she posted it over the weekend and the interest came flooding in. Anyway, Ms. Storm was one of many who applied for the spot, but the only applicant that applied for both positions.”

Tony feels like the ‘blinking guy’ meme when he takes that in and says, “Both? Both like … PA _and_ bodyguard?”

Hammer nods as he steals Tony’s can of sparkling water, ignoring the disgruntled look he gets as he chugs it down. He makes obnoxious satisfied sounds as he rubs his stomach and goes on to say, “Yeah. I found it curious too, but then she proved, without a doubt, that she was more than capable on both fronts.”

“Proved like _how?_ What are you not telling me?”

“Yeah, see, that’s where the surprise comes in. I’ll let you find that out yourself,” Hammer remarks with a smirk as he rises from the table to wander over to his desk. Not bothered when Tony follows anxiously, leaving Peter to nap and sleep off his food coma against the table like he’s been for the past ten minutes. “And don’t even think about getting FRI to pull up the footage because Ms. Storm was adamant that none of the cameras remain live while she … _showcased_ her specific skill set.”

Tony crosses his arms, annoyed because that’s exactly what he had planned on doing. “So that’s it then? She’s got a dual position?”

“Pretty much. The background check came back squeaky clean. Did you know she attended UCLA on a full-ride with triple majoring in Theater, MBA, _and_ Molecular, Cell Developmental Biology?” Hammer questions rhetorically while wiggling his eyebrows as Tony takes that in. 

“And she applied to be … but she can obviously … I’m so confused,” Tony sighs as he sits down in a nearby chair to sink his face into his hands.

Hammer merely kisses the front of his own teeth. “I don’t have any answers for you, kiddo. But you know who does? The woman in question. She’s got an air of mystery to her that I like.” He waits until Tony is peaking at him through his fingers to add, “Follow up with her. Let her show you what she can do, and it might make more sense.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to just tell me?” Tony presses, dropping his hands to lean back in his chair. “Even when it would _really, really, really_ make me happy?”

Hammer laughs at that, pointing what’s supposed to be a stern finger but comes off way too affectionate for that. “Ah, emotional blackmail. You’re cute, Annie, but I’m sticking to my guns with this one.”

“Whatever,” Tony mumbles and rises to grab Peter, hoisting him on his waist, and the tiny Omega doesn’t stir once. “Dr. Banner wouldn’t treat me like this. Goodbye.”

Hammer scoffs and boots up his computer to do whatever work he does when he’s not harassing others. He says, “You still need to meet up with our PR team, and you haven’t gotten back to me about those real estate listings.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah - I’m working on it,” Tony mutters as he exits Hammer’s office, pausing to step into the doorway of Ms. Everhart’s office with a jaunty wave she returns with a smile while she continues to speak demandingly into her headset. Not wanting to bother her when she’s obviously busy, he leaves her to it and makes his way down to Dr. Banner’s neck of the woods. 

Peter is still asleep by the time Tony manages to make it down to the biochemistry faction.

The floor for the research labs are huge. 

The white coated scientists moved in choreographed silence as they drew pipettes of fluid from one tiny tube and transferred them to others. The hum of machinery is like a soft whisper in the background. The aroma is mostly of the setting agar plates but there was an undertone of bleach. 

Across the back wall was floor to ceiling windows revealing a view across the city towers and spires that could only be described as stunning, but the scientists appeared not to notice, transfixed as they were by their experiments.

Tony finds Dr. Banner surrounded by a large group of teenagers in lab coats, gathered in a tight circle. The older Omega is playing with the 3D models of fruit, which are arranged by recurring chemical properties, saying, “The reason not to store bananas with other fruit is that their ripening emits a lot of ethylene gas and will cause the other fruit to spoil more quickly.”

The group of teens mutter amongst themselves in fascination, taking dedicated notes. 

Dr. Banner grins, shouldering the attention comfortably. He goes on to say, “You can also use this to your advantage. Got a pear that you want to ripen quicker? Put it in a paper bag with ripe bananas overnight.”

Someone from the group of teens say, “Ay, Dr. Banner, does that mean other fruit emits ethylene as well? But like, you know, generally in large quantities?”

Dr. Banner nods. “Correct. For example, oranges aren't ethylene-sensitive. I've got a list somewhere - basically the fruits that can ripen after picking are ethylene sensitive. Those that can't, aren't. And only when they are already quite ripe. The riper the fruit, the more ethylene gas it'll give off. Hence the saying, 'one bad apple spoils the bunch', as it's known to go.”

The group of teens make simultaneous sounds of amazement over that.

“Okay,” Dr. Banner says above the noise. He takes off his glasses, using the hem of his lab coat to clean the lenses. “Any questions?” When they all shake their heads no, he continues, “The cornerstone for successful ethylene control in storage is to start by harvesting pre-climacteric fruit, isolating it from climacteric fruit, and other sources of ethylene. How could we use this information to combat food waste during our current climate crisis? Take the rest of the day to think about it, and we’ll discuss the ideas you’ve come up with in our next session a week from today. Now, scram. Stop wasting your good summer days with me.”

“You cool peoples, Dr. Banner! Each time is a good time,” someone in the group of teens say while the rest are quick to agree.

Dr. Banner treats them to a fond smile but waves them off, fussing jokingly until they all scatter. He blinks in surprise when he finally notices Tony and Peter, shoving his glasses back on to say, “That, uh - I don’t want to make assumptions here but is that -”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Dr. Banner stands, fiddling with the chest pocket of his lab coat before he pulls free a lollipop to offer it to a now lucid Peter, who blinks sleepily back at him. “My office is this way. Has he been sleeping a lot?”

“Uh, well, no more than normal, I think?” Tony replies, following the older Omega to his secondary office where they can have some privacy. He sits down on Dr. Banner’s purple cushy couch. “Why? Is that - is that something to pay attention to?”

“I’m not sure,” Dr. Banner says honestly as he joins them on the couch, accepting the tablet that Tony hands to him so he can view the minor test results he’s been keeping stored. “Tell me how we got here.”

Tony starts at the beginning, really laying it out there while Peter wiggles off his lap to walk around and explore Dr. Banner’s office while the adults talk. 

“I’ll need to draw some blood,” Dr. Banner decides by the end of Tony’s colorful narration. “If Peter can sit still for it.”

Tony seeks the tiny Omega out with his eyes, huffing in fond exasperation when he spots Peter playing around with Dr. Banner’s stethoscope, listening to his own heartbeat. He wanders over and scoops him up, saying, “How do you feel about needles, _bambino?_ ”

Peter’s brow furrows but surprisingly his answer is a shrug. “More candy?”

“Of course you’d try and negotiate something,” Tony remarks, sitting him on the couch as Dr. Banner grabs what he needs to collect the samples. “Okay, fine. But don’t tell your father about all the sweets we’ve had today.”

Peter mimes zipping his lips as he grins happily, swinging his legs while he patiently lets Tony help him roll up his sleeve. He doesn’t make a peep or a fuss as Dr. Banner makes quick work of filing a couple of vials with blood and he wears the Scooby-Doo bandaid that comes shortly after with pride.

“If there’s something to be found in the blood results, I’ll let you know,” Dr. Banner promises as he removes his latex gloves while storing the samples safely. “I’ll also look at the other data you collected to determine what’s at play here and if we need to caution ourselves for anything.”

“I really appreciate this, Dr. Banner,” Tony stresses as he helps Peter shoulder his Spider-Man backpack so they can get going. “I can’t say that enough.”

“Trust me, it’s not a completely selfless endeavor. I’m eager to understand the possible ramifications of time travel on a molecular level,” Dr. Banner replies as he walks them out and towards the elevators. “Also, please, call me Bruce.”

“Bruce,” Tony echoes, shifting Peter to the opposite hip so he doesn’t have to talk over the kid’s head. “I don’t blame you for that level of interest. I’m curious to know myself what the side effects are due to quantum interfacing between DNA, RNA, proteins and their biosynthesis. I’ve mostly been toying with the idea of radioactive isotopes. Or rather, how time travel might have correlations to the existing byproducts of research into artificial radioactivity.” 

The corner of Bruce’s mouth kicks up as he says, “What, you mean like some crazy scientist experimenting with gamma radiation, hoping to turn unstable isotopes into stable ones without waiting for the required thousands or tens of thousands of years? Yeah, I definitely couldn’t imagine the correlation there.”

Tony laughs at the pointed joke. “I wasn’t going to bring up the Other Guy,” he swears. “I was just going to hint very aggressively at it.”

Bruce snorts as he stabs at the call button. “I’d hate to disappoint you, but the Other Guy has been really quiet for almost a decade now. The Harlem Incident really did a number on both of us and, well - I don’t think he’s ever coming back out again.”

Tony is very curious about that but he manages to hold his questions at bay. He’ll continue to work up to that.

“Keep watching him and let me know if any other symptoms occur like vomiting or lack of coordination. That could be an indication to something bigger,” Bruce urges as he slips Peter another lollipop, smiling when Peter beams at him, snatching it up quickly.

“Can do, Dr. B,” Tony says, saluting him with his free hand as he walks backward into the elevator. “Lunch tomorrow at noon?”

“I’ll put in my calendar,” Bruce agrees with a wry grin, waving as the elevator doors shut.

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** yooo  
**sunflowersandstickers:** gwen’s folks STILL won’t let me see her  
**sunflowersandstickers:** something is definitely up and i’m pissed bcause i’m really worried

 **youknowwhoiam:** what are you serious  
**youknowwhoiam:** what happened when you went

 **sunflowersandstickers:** gwen’s parents were all like “you cant show up unannounced like this, she not ready for company, she still not herself”  
**sunflowersandstickers:** and i’m like  
**sunflowersandstickers:** sorry but i’m just worried and woo woo whatever else  
**sunflowersandstickers:** and they were still like “you gotta go, we’ll let you know when she’s up for visitors”

 **youknowwhoiam:** that’s very frustrating  
**youknowwhoiam:** she’s still texting me ‘hungry’ but not responding when i question it

 **sunflowersandstickers:** i’mma like talk to my dad since he a cop  
**sunflowersandstickers:** see what our options are cause yo i’m like very worried  
**sunflowersandstickers:** this aint like her and her parents being shady asl

 **youknowwhoiam:** keep me posted please

 **sunflowersandstickers:** can do fam

 **youknowwhoiam:** also not to segue so abruptly like this  
**youknowwhoiam:** but we’re throwing a surprise party for steve this saturday

 **sunflowersandstickers:** say no more, i’m there  
**sunflowersandstickers:** forward me the address and time 

_youknowwhoiam liked sunflowersandstickers’s ‘forward me the address and time’ message_

.

.

.

Bucky picks them up just like he promised he would, only he’s not alone. Sam is riding shotgun while Riley is in the back.

With all the windows down, they are _blasting_ the song Barbie Girl by Aqua, dancing obnoxiously in their seats as they remain parked curbside in front of the tower.

Employees pouring out of the building, and even the pedestrians walking up and down the sidewalk shoot the three Beta man looks of either disdain, surprise, curiosity, or amusement.

“Why are you uncles like this?” Tony mutters to Peter, who is laughing and wiggling into his side. “Maybe they’ll calm down when they see I’m here.”

Yeah, so. Here’s the thing:

When Tony walks up to the car with Peter perched on his hip, the three Beta men decide to up the ante by cheering and wolf-whistling. Bucky even lays on the horn, ignoring the incredulous glares aimed at him from fellow drivers or spectators.

Sam jumps out of the car, opening the backdoor for Tony with as much flourish and exaggeration as possible while Tony ducks in to strap Peter into his car seat.

Tony snorts and rolls his eyes as Sam does the same for him when he indicates that Tony should take his place in front. He thanks the Beta man before buckling into the passenger seat while Sam jogs around the back to squish himself between Riley and Peter’s car seat.

“So, little man, how was work today? How many people did you fire?” Sam jokes as Riley huffs in amusement.

Peter babbles happily, kicking his tiny feet into the back of Tony’s chair while Sam gasps here and there, like he’s completely enthralled and emotionally invested in the three-year-old’s drama, hyping him up.

“Hey,” Bucky says as he pulls away from the curb. “So you’re blockhead of an Alpha nearly forgot tonight is the night for that art festival thing he always attends. I just happened to bring it up and so he’s rushing to put the final touches on his submissions but we’re supposed to meet him and Sarah there.”

Tony nods with a small smile. “He once told me that he didn’t know if he wanted to participate or not,” he says, a little excited to see what his fiancé has done. 

“Yeah? Well, he’s all in as far as I could tell,” Bucky replies as he checks all his mirrors to merge into the lane leading to the expressway. “Said something about having the greatest inspiration to - _fuck!_ ” He slams down on the brakes as a car rudely and dangerously tries to cut him off, causing everyone to jerk forward in their seats. “What the fuck? Watch it, ya moron! There’s a baby in here, you asshole!” he shouts through his open window, flipping the driver off as he speeds past him. When he’s calm enough, he grins sheepishly, saying, “Sorry, everyone.”

“I think we _all_ agreed with your reaction,” Sam comments from the back, making everyone laugh and breaking the tension. 

Riley adds, “Where else but New York? To be honest, I don’t even understand the concept of traffic. Just drive like you’re supposed to.”

Bucky keeps one hand on the top of the steering wheel while he uses the other to snap his fingers, saying, “Amen to that. Christ.” He sighs and fiddles with the radio before he settles on a station. 

The rest of the drive is spent in thoughtful silence.

.

.

.

 **Brooklyn Street Amateurs present’s Absurdist Art** stretched it's way up an avenue that usually was jammed with cars filled with people trying to get home from work at this time of day. Instead, wherever Tony looked there were painted faces and masks as he navigated with the three Beta men through the crowds to find Steve.

Peter, who’s sitting on Bucky’s shoulders, looks up in awe at the stilt walkers who marched down the middle of the crowd blowing bubbles or waving as they went.

The Latin and Afro music was the heartbeat of the crowd and they swayed like a river of people around each artistic piece and vendor stands.

Tony is pretty fascinated by all the artwork on display. Each were as colorful as a summer garden; bold yellows, magenta, cyan and emerald green. There were some drowning in sequins or glitter sparkling in the brilliant evening sun and some that even had feathers of every color. 

Food and beverage sellers were planted throughout the masses of onlookers and the aroma of their stands perfumed the air. 

Tony loves the energy, the atmosphere. His mind is buzzing with curiosity, his limbs so charged up that standing still just isn't an option. Every normal thought and worry is banished. There is simply no room for it with all the excitement.

They eventually find Steve’s humble set-up after walking the length of six city blocks. There’s a tightly knit group of onlookers surrounding him and his art pieces. The swell of it is so thick that it takes a few minutes for Tony to politely make his way through.

Steve lights up when he sees him as his side of the bond sparkles with magnificent pinks and reddish hues, sending Tony’s heart aflutter. He pulls Tony close enough to kiss him on the cheek while he subtly presses his one hand to Tony’s lower stomach, giving the Omega a burst of butterflies from the possessively affectionate gesture.

“You’re popular,” Tony mumbles into the side of Steve’s neck, grinning slightly to himself when he feels the Alpha get goosebumps.

“Not surprising,” Steve replies, squeezing the back of Tony’s neck with a firm yet tender grip before sliding his hand down the length of Tony's spine before stopping at his lower back. “Given the subject,” he adds.

Tony frowns and pulls away, taking the time to really look at what’s on display and he freezes when he realizes that its - it’s _him._  

All of it, everything, is just - it’s Tony. 

Only it’s a younger, teenaged version of himself with some sort of glowy, circular thing in the middle of his chest. The other version of himself has a red gauntlet in one hand and red/gold helmet under the other arm. He was standing proudly next to an armored suit in the middle of the desert with a sly grin, his brown eyes dancing with mirthful coyness.

The other pieces fall along the same thread:

Tony in a glimmering workshop, captured mid-thought, face aglow with the ethereal blue light of floating holographic 3D models of different versions of his armored suits.

Tony fully outfitted in his armored suit, one gauntlet raised, faceplate lifted up to show him speak the speech bubble next to his head that reads, “I am Iron Man.”

Iron Man pairing up with Spider-Man to save New York from a dicey alien invasion.

There’s even a comic panel that explains Iron Man’s origins, labeling Tony as reformed capitalist royalty after being kidnapped by his parents' enemies and seeing the damage their legacy of weapon-making truly was. He builds himself a suit to escape his captors by engineering a pure source of energy to power the suit and continues to be Iron Man in secret by pretending that Iron Man is his personal bodyguard.

“Wow,” Tony says in awe. “This is - Steve, this is _amazing._  I - I don’t know whether to cry or kiss you. You made me - you make me seem so brave.”

Steve gives him a look for that. “Honey, you are.”

Tony swallows down the emotional lump forming in his throat. “I’m - but I’m not like _that._  I’m not a hero. I -” He’s not really sure where he’s going with this but he’s just so awed by the attention to detail, the undeniable _homage_ Steve pays him. “It’s flattering but I’m nothing like that.”

“I was mostly getting at how big of a heart you have,” Steve says as they both watch onlookers take great interest in his artwork. “And yeah, it’s fiction, but the central themes still ring true. You could’ve followed in Howard’s footsteps, but you didn’t. You’re only interested in improving lives, not destroying them. You bucked against your arranged marriage and escaped the miserable life that your parents had you living. I really don’t think I exaggerated much, just changed a few facts or morphed them into metaphors. But listen, when you chose me, you gave me a home. You’re my home and my hero. I’m just letting the rest of the world know in the best way I can.”

“God,” Tony croaks, quickly reaching up to wipe away the tears that try to spill over onto his pink cheeks. “Every time I think I can’t love you any more than I already do, you go and you do something like this and it’s like I’m freefalling all over again.” He surprises both Steve and himself by reeling Steve into a passionate kiss in _public._

 _Fuck it,_ Tony thinks, shoving his tongue as deep into Steve’s mouth as he can, cheeks burning when there are answering wolf-whistles and cheers from fellow onlookers (and even worse from Sam, Bucky, and Riley). _This Alpha is mine and I love him._

“Christ, honey,” Steve breathes, swaying slightly, eyes a bit hazy with his desire. His side of the bond is simmering with bubbly wine reds and pinks. “You keep kissing me like that,” he continues, lowly. “And I might have to take you home and put you to bed.”

Tony laughs a little, something springing loose in his chest, making him feel as free as a bird mid-flight. “I wouldn’t say no,” he admits, getting a little wet at the thought, allowing himself just a moment to fantasize about it before he pushes it back. “But I actually want to stick around. I’ve never been apart of anything like this before. I like it.” 

“Aye, come on then.” Sarah inserts herself between them, dropping a kiss on Steve’s cheek before doing the same with Tony. “Stop hogging the little darling, Steve. I’ve held off as many buyers as I can but I think it’s time you dealt with all that. Tony, love, come help an ailing Alpha locate some proper food. Have you ever had a funnel cake?”

Tony shakes his head as the older Alpha links elbows with him to whisk him away. He glances over his shoulder with a grin and waves affectionately back as Steve.

Steve winks, mouthing, “I love you.” before he turns to the swarming crowd of buyers trying to put in a bid on some of his pieces.

.

.

.

Steve manages to sell _everything._  He makes five grand in total because the bids were enthusiastically high. 

Sam wants to go out for drinks to celebrate.

Tony declines, making an excuse about work tomorrow and being exhausted as is, when the real reason is that he’s still very much pregnant.

Sarah even helps him out by saying she’s pretty knackered herself while also gesturing to Peter, who is passed out, stone-cold in her arms with bits of cotton candy smeared around his slack mouth.

Tony still insists that Steve goes out with his friends and his Alpha only concedes when Tony promises he’ll be okay with missing out. 

Bucky makes a crack about how the drinks won’t pay for themselves anyhow and Steve rolls his eyes but lets the Beta man drag him off after Bucky gives the keys to his car over to Sarah so she can drive herself, Tony, and Peter home.

.

.

.

Once home, Sarah and Tony stay up a little longer and discuss Steve’s surprise party at length over a fresh pot of spiced ginger cinnamon tea as Peter continues to doze blissfully in the older Alpha’s lap. He hadn’t stirred during the whole car ride home and even after.

Anyway, they’re able to tidy up the last few details of Steve’s surprise party until they are satisfied with how they will approach things.

Sarah takes Peter with her up to her room when the tiny Omega continues to cling tightly to her in his sleep, joking about how it’ll be nice to have someone to cuddle with for a change. She insists Tony take the rest of the night for himself.

Left alone, Tony spends an hour combing through the framework of all the servers at Hammer Industries. He balances that with researching the public rivalry between the Hammers and the Stones. He has FRIDAY arrange a private get together for lunch with Tiberius Stone somewhere within the next two weeks.

Then he spends another hour reviewing and testing Steve’s gift before he leaves Little Ben to correct the errors he found and tidy up the last additional details.

An hour and a half later after that, Tony is sinking into the warm watery depths of his bathtub, up to his chin in bubbles as his face mask dries and begins to harden. He washes it off when it does harden completely so he doesn’t have to worry about it later. He doesn’t know how long he drifts under the low intimate lighting of the flickering candles he’s planted all around the bathroom before he’s startled awake by the sensation of fingers sliding up from his ankle to his knee.

“Just me,” Steve murmurs, sitting on the floor, leaning against the edge of the tub with his arm stuck in the bathwater where he’s slowly stroking the crevice of Tony’s inner knee. His cheeks are flushed with his intoxication but his ocean blue eyes are simmering with transparent desire. “You enjoying yourself, honey?”

Tony’s heart is still racing, only now for a different reason because Steve’s slid his hand up a little higher to grope gently at his inner thigh in the water. “Yeah, I - I was trying to relax,” he stammers, feeling the very opposite at the moment. He clears his throat, pretty sure the tops of his ears were red, and not because of the bathwater. “How did you, uh - how was the bar you went to?” he asks, squirming under Steve’s relentlessly hungry gaze.

“Good,” Steve simply says. “Didn’t have as much as Buck and Sam. Buck’s passed out upstairs on the couch, by the way. Both Riley, Sam, and I had a hard time convincing him to get in the rideshare we ordered. He kept going on and on about how he wanted to _walk_ home. I recorded him reciting poetry about Dora and crying about how absolutely perfect she is and how he feels like the luckiest man that a brainy doctor like her is giving an average mook like him a chance.”

Tony snickers a little, imagining it. “Don’t be rude,” he playfully chastises, trying to quell his grin. “I’ve got plenty of evidence to prove you do nearly the same thing with me when you’re just as gone.”

Steve just shrugs as his mouth stretches out into a dopey, lovesick smile. “You say that like I’m not fully prepared to stand by what I say, Tony,” he drawls with a tone that’s far too intimate to ignore.

It always sends a shiver up Tony’s spine whenever Steve says his name with that rich, low timbre, and it takes everything in him to force back an answering whine. 

“Wish you could’ve been there, though,” Steve goes to say with a sigh, rubbing soothing circles with the tips of his fingers against the skin of Tony’s inner thigh until the Omega breaks out in goosebumps again. “Half of anything I do isn’t nearly as enjoyable as when you’re there with me.”

Tony bites his bottom lip, taking a moment to breathe as warm validation tingles all throughout his nervous system. “How much, uh - how much did you have to drink?” he asks.

Steve shoots him an amused look for that. “Why? You don’t wanna take advantage?” he goads with that damn half-grin he knows drives Tony crazy. “Promise I’m still sober enough to be a good time. Spread your legs a little wider and I’ll show you.”

Tony makes an embarrassingly indecent sound as he slams his thighs shut, trapping Steve’s wandering hand between them as he gets devastatingly wet and hard in a matter of seconds. The hot bathwater combined with the mouthwatering aroma of Steve’s pheromones makes him a bit lightheaded. His chest is heaving slightly.

Steve continues to watch him like a predator that’s trapped its prey, licking slowly at the top of his own lip while he languidly drags his gaze up and down Tony’s wet, glistening body like the Omega is a feast and he’s a starved man unsure of where to start first.

God, Tony wants him so bad. He’s never wanted anything more at that moment. “Please,” he begs, not even sure what he’s asking for. Anything, maybe. Everything. “Please, Alpha.”

Steve shudders and yanks his hand free from the trap of Tony’s thighs so he can desperately tear off his clothes and shoes, climbing into the tub to sweep Tony up into a fervently passionate kiss. He communicates with his mouth exactly what he plans on doing to Tony tonight and Tony can do nothing but hang on for dear life as he goes weak all over, turning to jelly when the Alpha sucks on his tongue hungrily. 

The burn in Tony lungs from the lack of air the intense makeout session provides and the ache in between his legs makes it kind of hard to think.

Steve waits no time before sinking a finger inside of him, adding another until it becomes two and then three. For how hurriedly Steve spears Tony open with his fingers, the Omega assumes he’s trying to warm him up before he gives him his dick.

But that’s not what happens.

No, he brings Tony right to the edge before he completely withdraws as soon as he can feel Tony tightening up in that way he does right before he cums. 

Tony whines from where he’s white-knuckling the edge of the bathtub with both hands. “Fuck, Steve - come on.”

Steve shushes him, a dangerous glimmer of something in his eye that's exaggerated by the flickering candlelight all around them as he grabs one of Tony’s hands to slowly guide between his legs.

Tony goes scarlet and squirms fitfully when his fingers brush against his hole. “I - I can’t,” he whines, a mix of hot shame swirling in his gut that battles against a sharp spike of desire that nearly outranks it. 

Steve shushes him gently, quietly saying, “I think you can. I think you’d like it if you weren’t afraid to try. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s your body. There’s nothing wrong with making yourself feel good.”

Tony’s breath hitches as Steve helps him guide a finger inside of himself. His thighs shake a little in awe of the feeling. “Oh, I - I don’t know. I was - was always taught this is wrong.”

“It’s not,” Steve swears, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb against the inner wrist of Tony’s hand in the water. “I’m not going to judge you for something I do. Something that practically everyone does. I promise it’s okay.”

Tony still hesitates.

“Tell you what,” Steve goes on to say when he notices. “Make yourself cum, just this once, and if you don’t like it, I won’t ever bother you about it again.”

“So we’re negotiating?” Tony remarks with a shaky but amused grin, staring at Steve with a half-lidded gaze as he licks lips, shivering when the Alpha follows the motion closely. “And if I _do_ like it? What do I get?”

“My cock,” Steve merely says. “How’s that sound?”

“Oh fuck off,” Tony laughs breathlessly as he clenches around his own finger at the dark promise, nearly salivating at the thought. Jesus, they haven’t had sex just short of a couple of days but his body responds like it’s been years. “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

Steve darts forward to sweep him up into a biting kiss and pulls away before Tony can deepen it, leaving the Omega bereft as he moves to the other end of the tub. He leans back and lifts his eyebrows expectantly while he waits, cupping his hands over Tony’s ankles with no other purpose but to just rest them there. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encourages with a roguish half-grin. “Show me how good you can be to yourself.”

Tony bites his bottom lip shyly as heat prickles sharply from where blood is rising and spreading rapidly across his face and his entire body. He exhales shakily as he continues to work the first finger into himself up to the third knuckle. It’s not exactly strange, but it’s unfamiliar and different though not unpleasant.

Nothing really exciting happens when he works up the nerve to add another finger, pressing inward, not really aiming at anything but feeling himself out, shouldering the heavy gaze of his Alpha.

It’s so quiet with the candles flickering different shadows across the bathroom, steam still rising from the water but the bubbles are nearly all gone, so Steve can pretty much see everything Tony is doing to himself.

Tony adds a third finger, a bit more confident and comfortable with the motion, and feels bold enough to go deeper. “Oh,” he breathes when he finally brushes against his prostate, his cock twitching with decided interest. “Oh, that’s - _fuck_.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, just as breathlessly as he watches Tony’s eyes flutter shut while he gets lost to the sensations. “You’re doing so well, honey, figuring out what you like.”

Tony groans as he clenches around his own fingers, getting wet with the praise. “Feels - feels really good, Alpha,” he slurs, working his fingers in and out until he can find the momentum he likes best. 

“It looks good,” Steve rumbles and Tony can feel his gaze burning up and down his body. “Slow down a little. No need to rush it.”

Tony whines as his thighs shake with the effort to slow down. His skin is tingling all over, his nipples have pebbled under the water and he’s working on basic instinct when he uses his free hand to pinch at them. He grinds down on his fingers with a soft cry as it sends a sharp wave of pleasure throughout his entire body.

“Fuck,” Steve hisses lowly and when Tony manages to pry an eye open to look at him, which is quite an effort since he’s so drunk on his own pleasure, he sees the Alpha cupping a hand at the base of his cock. “You look so good, honey. Keep going.”

Tony moans, closing his eyes again as he thrusts his fingers inside of himself as deep as they can go, curling them until he brushes against his prostate with mind-numbing precision that he gets a bit clumsy with it. God, it felt so amazing - why had he thought this was wrong? Nothing that felt as good as this do could be wrong.

“ _Mm,_ ” Tony whines as he pinches at his nipples again before bringing that hand up so he can suck on his fingers, grinding down on his other hand as his thighs start to shake with his impending orgasm. “Oh,” he pants, reaching into the water to stroke himself desperately. “Oh, I - I’m gonna - can I please - please let me -”

“You can cum,” Steve quickly interjects. “God, give it to me, sweetheart. Let me see you cum.”

Tony throws his head back as he clenches down tightly as his orgasm slowly blooms, and he cries out when he contracts around his fingers aggressively, cock spurting as wave after wave of pleasure unfolds from his core to spread across the rest of his body. He’s floating high above himself, out into the sky, above the Earth, hovering amongst the prettiest stars in the night sky.

When he comes back down, Steve is kissing him with the desperation of a dying man, mumbling nothing but praises between the press of their mouths until Tony is lucid enough to feel his face start to burn shyly because of it.

“Christ, you were so perfect. So fucking perfect. I can’t wait to make you come on my cock like that, baby doll,” Steve breathes in his ear, reveling in the way it gets Tony to shudder as his cock twitches. “You want that, honey? You ready for me to give it to you?”

“Please,” Tony whispers weakly, spreading his thighs wider to invite Steve closer. “Please, Alpha. You said - you _promised_ -”

Steve shushes him, stamping affectionate kisses against his mouth over and over as he lines himself up and pushes inside. He sets a brutal pace that causes the bathwater to rock unstably, sloshing threads of water onto the floor.

Tony is sobbing, clawing at Steve’s shoulders as his thighs shake from where he has them boxing in Steve’s lower ribcage. He chokes on choppy variations of Steve’s name until the Alpha swivels his hips in a way that turns his name into just a long stream of ‘ _yes, yes, yes, yes_ ’.

With each snap of Steve’s hips, Tony can feel his cries escalate into broken gasps, his body tightening up and coiling like a spring ready to snap at any moment. Thank goodness for soundproof walls because Steve was really giving it his all.

“Steve,” Tony gasps, scratching his nails down the Alpha's wet back as his chest heaved, spots dancing on the edge of his vision. He’s writhing frantically under Steve as he paws desperately at his shoulders, whimpering, “Steve - Steve, I’m - I’m gonna cum. Oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Steve reaches between them and his hand becomes a blur over Tony’s cock, stripping the Omega of his pleasure as he writhes all the more with high pitched gasps, the water sloshing even harder against the edges of the tub.

Tony trembles as his orgasm claws its way through him, making his throat lock up in nothing but a silent scream as he shoots between them, vaguely aware that his contractions are milking Steve’s orgasm as the Alpha presses himself as deep as he can while he cums.

Steve collapses on him as they both try to catch their breath, allowing the bathwater to finally settle.

“Holy fucking shit,” Tony whispers as he gives a winded laugh. “You have fucked me absolutely stupid.”

“Yeah?” Steve huffs, sucking a mark into the side of Tony’s neck. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know my name?” 

“No, I know your name. I wanna see if you still do.”

Tony pinches him as Steve smothers his laughter in the side of Tony’s neck. “Okay, come on. I’m am nowhere near as clean as I was to begin with.”

Steve sighs but finds the strength to carefully withdraw from Tony, both of them taking a few seconds to bemoan the disconnection before he carefully stands on shaky legs to help Tony up as well.

They drain the tub and opt for a shower instead before they stumble into bed together.

Tony is the big spoon this time when they cuddle and talk about a variety of topics under the cover of darkness and moonlight.

The conversation involves things like when they want to start house hunting, and Tony’s first day of work. As well as what happened when Tony went to signature Hammer’s heir-apparent contract, what it would mean for them going forward, and what the next three months will look like for them as Tony prepares to go public with his ‘adoption’.

Steve mentions that he got a job offer from someone representing the Metropolitan Museum of Art at the festival. “They were really impressed with my work and wanted to take me on for this opening they have for an Art Restoration Specialist,” he says.

“That’s amazing,” Tony mumbles, too tired to question why Steve’s side of the bond is bleeding with yellowish violets. “Does this mean you don’t want your old job back? Hammer’s legal team is working on clearing your name.”

“Ah, well, I don’t think there’s any going back after all that,” Steve admits, twisting around in Tony’s arms so they can face each other. “The only thing about this new job is that I might have to travel sometimes, or work strange hours.”

Tony yawns with a shrug, not seeing the big deal. “I can say the same about my line of work. That’s - it’ll be fine, Steve. We can make it work,” he swears. “Same team, right?”

“Same team,” Steve agrees quietly, looking at him with an expression that Tony can’t really label. His side of the bond sparkles with yellowish pinks and reds. Interesting. “You know I love you, right? More than anything. I just want what’s best for us.”

Tony smiles bemusedly. “Yeah, I know. I love you too. I trust you.”

Steve swallows dryly before kissing him sweetly, resting a hand on Tony’s lower stomach. “Go on and rest up. I’m going to stay up a little longer. Sort myself out.”

“M’kay,” Tony mumbles, snuggling closer and sighing contently when Steve starts combing his long fingers through his hair with affectionate scenting.

.

.

.

 **snowwhiteprivilege:** hungry


	33. YEAR 1: PART I - VOLUME V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV - i'm posting early so i can take a break for the holidays (which means the next update might not happen until the first week of December)
> 
> also i see your comments and i love them, i've just been too shy to respond so, sorry - i am totally reading the comments you leave and i thank you, i'm just speechless :)
> 
> stick around at the end of the chapter for bonus content (which may become a thing if you guys wanna send me some prompts for ideas)
> 
> this chapter was inspired by the Prince Essentials Playlist on Apple Music

**YEAR 1**   
**VOLUME V**

Tony wakes up before six am with a deep yearning for water chestnuts.

Here’s the thing though:

Tony _hates_ those things - has always hated them for as long as he could remember. So he rolls over, pressing his back into Steve’s side and tries to go back to sleep because he’s still pretty wiped, limbs heavily weighed with exhaustion.

But the craving carves into his stomach and across his mind like an itch that won’t be scratched until it is satisfied and Tony knows he’s doomed. 

“Jellybean,” Tony sighs/complains, slapping a pillow over his face so he can groan into it, but the gurgling of his stomach is louder. “Goddamn it. _Fine._ ” He wiggles out of bed moodily, blazing through his morning routine since it’s obvious he won’t be able to sleep.

He stops by the bed to tuck Steve in, rubbing his hand up and down the Alpha’s back for some light scenting as he informs the sleepy man that he’s going on a snack run.

Steve mumbles his understanding without opening his eyes once, and yanks Tony in for the kind of lazy kiss that makes Tony’s face burn and butterflies manifest in his stomach.

Tony is still reeling from the high of that kiss while he tosses on some jeans and one of Steve’s hoodies before he slips into his sneakers, walking up the stairs towards the kitchen in a lovesick haze. He’s rifling through the cabinets with a sort of dazed singleminded focus that it takes him a minute to realize he hears soft sobbing and running water.

Since it’s obvious that Sarah doesn’t have any water chestnuts stocked, he decides to investigate the source of those sounds, worried it might be Peter.

It’s not Peter.

Tony walks past the living room, noticing one of the couch cushions is missing and when he winds further into the house, he sees the door to the half-bathroom cracked open. He carefully widens it and spots Bucky on the floor with his back to the door, scrubbing away at the missing couch cushion with a furious sweep of his hand going in rough, circular motions as he adds more soap, his broad shoulders tremble as he continues to cry while he sits in nothing but his t-shirt and underwear.

“Bucky?” Tony says gently, not walking any further into the bathroom.

Bucky flinches as if he’s been struck, body bowing over the cushion in shame as the tremor in his shoulders become all the more pronounced. “I - I had a - an accident. I didn’t mean to -” He cuts himself off a rough, shaky inhale. “Please don’t tell Steve,” he whispers, still bowing over the cushion to hide the wet spot that mirrors the crotch of his discarded jeans by the toilet.

Tony’s heart cracks open a little as his gut twists with empathy. He says, “Okay, we can - we can fix this.” He walks away to go find some fresh clothes for Bucky to wear, guessing at his size and glad to find that he does have some oversized sweatpants and a sweatshirt that should fit the Beta man just fine. He returns to Bucky in a hurry and hands the clothes over to him. “Here. You shower and I’ll take care of the cushion.”

Bucky’s eyes are bloodshot and his face is riddled with a mottled reddish hue. He avoids Tony’s eyes as he accepts the clothes and scurries up the stairs to make use of the guest bathroom at the end of the hall opposite to Sarah’s room. He’s really quiet and light on his feet that he doesn’t disturb or make anything creak as he goes.

Tony works on getting the couch cushion disinfected, using his superior knowledge of chemicals to make a proper cleaning aid that, while makes him dizzy and a little nauseated, does exactly what Tony was hoping it would do. He convinces Little Ben to swipe one of Sarah’s hairdryers for him without disturbing the older Alpha or Peter, and he uses it to dry the (now clean) wet spot before putting it back with its kin on the couch. 

By the time Bucky returns smelling of the same sunflower shampoo that Sarah uses, wearing the clothes Tony loaned him, the couch looks as unaffected as ever and that seems to relax a bit of the tension that Bucky was carrying in his upper body. 

“I put your clothes in the wash,” Tony says after a few beats of loaded silence. “I didn’t turn it on, so you can add the rest and, you know, do whatever it is you’re supposed to do with those machines. I don’t really have a knack for it. Steve is usually the one that deals with our laundry ever since - and this was _one time,_ mind you - I turned some of our things pink. And not any of the pretty shades either.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth does this odd twitch like he’s trying for a smile but his eyes are too haunted for it. The smile never happens and he kind of ducks his gaze away as he says, “Thanks. I’ll just - I’ll go take care of that.”

Tony nods and watches him disappear around the corner, into the kitchen where Sarah keeps her double-decker washer/dryer in the nearby pantry area. He waits until Bucky returns before he says, “So I was actually on my way out to forage for some water chestnuts since it seems we don’t have anything here. Did you want to join me?”

Bucky keeps his hands at his sides, shoulders straight, looking one second away from being at parade rest but he appears to battle the urge by fidgeting from foot to foot. He says, “There’s this Thai place I know that’s twenty-four hours. It’s about three blocks east from here and stinks to high heaven of sesame oil but they have the best water chestnuts I’ve ever tasted. If that’s - if you’re interested?”

“Definitely interested,” Tony promises with a small smile as his stomach gurgles audibly.

.

.

.

 **Rainbow Sticky Rice** had a full house, despite the fact that it’s the early morning hours, but that’s because it was settled on the same corner of a nearby university’s student dorms. So it’s mostly filled with sleep-deprived college students taking on extra course work during the summer to get all the more closer to graduation while eating on a budget.

Bucky is on first-name basis with all the employees, even the owners, who are overjoyed to see the Beta man and gifts him with his favorite table next to the fish tank.

Tony lets Bucky order for the both of them, too busy admiring the recently buffed glass, eyes fixed on the tropical fish that reminded him of fall leaves: vibrant and thin. 

“This won’t make you late to work will it?” Bucky asks as the waiter scurries to the kitchens to put in their order. The skin around his eyes are wrinkled with worry while his mouth sags in a guilt-ridden frown. “Should I have asked for them to make it to go?”

Tony waves him off. “It’s fine. Really. I make my own hours,” he swears because he does. “Perks of being next in line to run a business.”

Bucky gives a short nod and fiddles anxiously with his glass of water. He bites at the skin of his bottom lip as his knee bounces restlessly while he eyes all the exits and windows. He can’t seem to relax or sit still. “Listen, I don’t normally …” he begins and then pauses, seeming to rethink his next words. He continues, face reddening as he tries to maintain eye contact with Tony. “I don’t usually make it a habit to have, you know, _accidents_ like that. But it’s been - ever since I joined -” He hesitates again with a frustrated sound, banging a closed fist over the table, making the silverware rattle noisily.

“You don’t owe me anything, Bucky,” Tony quickly promises, his own hands folded calmly over the table. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, but we do,” Bucky presses, voice slightly raised, brow furrowed with utter frustration. He grabs a napkin from the holder and starts ripping it to shreds in an effort to calm down. “I don’t want you thinking that I’m - that I can’t control - it’s the nightmares. I have -” He fidgets in his seat. “When you - when you do the kind of service I have for the Army … there’s just things that I’m not allowed to talk about. So I’m holding it all up here.” He points to his temple. “Ever since I came back, I’ve tried to … forget it. Tried to pretend that I’m still the same man I was when I left. So I push it back, and I - it don’t stay down for long, you know? Springs back up like a fucking Jack-in-the-box when I try and get a decent’s night sleep.”

“Which means you haven’t been sleeping,” Tony reasons quietly, watching as the other man leaned forward on his elbows while rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

“Wasn’t getting much sleep overseas anyway, so I’m used to - to doing with the bare minimum or a couple of days without,” Bucky goes on to say as he drops his hands with a sigh, drumming his fingers against the table as his knee jiggles anxiously again. “Anyway, I just wanted you to - I didn’t want you to think that I’m off my rocker or something. Because I just need more time, is all. I’ll be fine.” Then, mostly to himself, he mutters, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be just fine. I’m gonna be okay. I’m still me. I know who I am. I know. I do.”

Tony is worried and he can’t help that. He may not have known Bucky for a long time, but he still cares enough to be as concerned as he is about Steve’s best friend. “James?” he says.

Bucky flinches, which really shouldn’t be a thing someone does when you say their legal name. His sunken gaze finds its way to Tony’s. “Don’t tell Steve,” he begs a little brokenly. “He wouldn’t - he doesn’t understand. And he worries too much anyway. He’s got you and Peter to look after, besides. I don’t need to be added to all that.”

“I’m speaking from personal experience here when I say that I think Steve would feel very differently about that,” Tony remarks lightly as Bucky huffs bitterly. “And I can also speak for myself when I say that I don’t mind either.”

“You should, darlin’,” Bucky contends while his expression becomes more and more closed off. “If any of you knew half of the things I’d done, well, you wouldn’t be so understanding as you all try an' insist.” He gives a jerky shrug that doesn’t quite connect to the heavy implications underlying his tone. “It’s fine. I’m dealing with it. Please don’t say anything to Steve.”

Tony nods and knows it’s a bit underhanded but he makes a mental note to reach out to Sam since this is primarily his area of expertise. He’s concerned and he’d never forgive himself if anything happened to Bucky all because he didn’t say anything to anyone.

Steve would probably never forgive him either, and that thought alone encourages him to speak up.

The table is doused with loaded silence again.

Tony grabs his water, and before taking a sip, asks, “You got any embarrassing stories about Steve I should know about?”

Bucky looks relieved at the subject change and becomes more animated as he describes, in great obnoxious detail, every instance where Steve ended up making a hilarious fool of himself.

Tony doesn’t think he’s ever laughed so hard and Bucky seems immensely cheered by the time their dishes come out (water chestnut soup with cayenne noodles).

There’s a point where they have to playfully fight over the bill, which dissolves into three lightning rounds of rock-paper-scissors in which Tony is the victor every time.

Bucky cries foul but doesn't stop Tony from footing the debt in the end.

They take the long way back to Sarah’s house just to soak up the mild summer air and sunshine, watching as the rest of the neighborhood finally wakes up and gets busy for the day.

After a while, Tony feels led to tell Bucky exactly why he always calls Steve ‘lamb’ and the Beta man is nearly in tears by the end of the story.

Tony smiles as he watches Bucky dry his face as they pause at another crosswalk to wait for the signal to change.

Bucky bumps their shoulders together affectionately and says, “You really love him, don’t you?”

“He’s alright,” Tony jokes with a shrug but he knows the dopey smile on his face gives him away. He fiddles with the ring on his finger and barely restrains himself from pressing a hand to his stomach where their unborn child is. “Can I tell you something?” he asks.

Bucky nods encouragingly, giving his full undivided attention as he grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it.

“So, there was this night, I don’t know, maybe like … two days after we got married at City Hall, and we’d just come back from me meeting Sarah and all his exes at the same time,” Tony goes on to say, walking forward when the signal changes. “Steve had lit all these candles. Just, all around, right? The goof doesn’t even realize how romantic it is, but I can’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to watch one of his favorite movies -”

“ _It’s a Wonderful Life!_ ” Bucky crows, rolling his eyes with exasperated fondness. “I know that damn movie by heart because of that asshole. Though he could argue the same with me and _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_. Anyway, you were saying?”

Tony laughs and says, “Yeah, so we’re in bed, surrounded by romantic lighting, watching this movie and Steve is just - he’s reciting his favorite parts word for word and I’m thinking to myself how beautiful he is and how I wish he’d say all that to me. I think that’s the moment I really started falling for him. He was - he _is_ the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. He showed me that the world wasn’t all teeth and claws like my parents tried to make me believe.”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s smiling as they get closer and closer to reaching Sarah’s house. “That’s good, I’m glad. I want that for myself, you know? I’m hoping to find that.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Tony remarks with a shrug. “But a part of that process is being able to be vulnerable. Steve has seen me at my best _and_ my worst. But I trust him with all of me, good days and bad, and I want everything he has to offer, both his good days and bad. I know I can trust him to accept me.”

“He’d better, you’re a fucking catch,” Bucky mutters and grins when it gets Tony to snicker. “I see what you’re saying though. It’s a scary thing to give someone the entirety of who you are as a person, though.”

“When you really love someone, I find that it gradually gets better with time and patience,” Tony says as they pause right outside of Sarah’s fence. “It’s not always easy. I have my doubts now and again. It can be like pulling teeth.”

“I hear that,” Bucky agrees with a self-deprecating huff. “Might be wrong, but I feel like there’s a point you're trying to make from all this.”

Tony smiles because he was getting at something. “People end up surprising you,” he says. “But I think it’s okay to not be perfect with the ones you care about and that care about you in equal measure if not greater. I don’t know what you went through but that’s because I just know what you’ve let me see, and don’t get me wrong, I do like those parts too. But I wouldn’t mind the unpolished angles as well." He shrugs with a smile. "Personally, I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. It didn’t happen all at once since I’ve been hurt before, but sometimes you’ve got to take that chance. None of us knows what might happen even the next minute, yet still, we go forward. Because we trust. Because we have faith. That’s what love does, I think. Gives you hope, gives you the courage to try again.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He seems a bit open with his thoughts though, a sort of vulnerability in his haunted eyes; a part of him seems like he wants to reach out but is too afraid of what might happen when he does. 

“I won’t push. I won’t,” Tony promises, resting a hand on one of Bucky’s broad shoulders. “But I think I can be a good friend to you if you let me. If you - if you ever wanted to talk about anything you feel like you can’t talk about with Steve or Sam. I’m thinking I could count on you for the same too, right? Cause that’s what - that’s what family does.”

Bucky’s face twists as tears begin to well up in his eyes. “Yeah, um.” His voice is hoarse, cracking with emotion. “Yeah. Of course, Tony. We - you are - of course.”

Tony can feel the heat build up in his own eyes and that affirmation relaxes something inside of him that he didn’t know he was even worried about. He chokes on a delighted laugh when Bucky hauls him in for a tight hug. He returns it with a pink face, holding on until the Beta man stops trembling so fiercely.

Bucky pulls away, ducking his head with a wry chuckle as he dries his face. “Think you’re just about the best thing that’s ever happened to Steve. I’m glad that you - that you’re with us.”

Tony smiles as his blush deepens, flattered. “I like being with you all. I feel like I belong.”

“You do,” Bucky assures so quickly that it makes Tony burst in giggles.

Tony swats Bucky away when the Beta man tries to pinch and squish his cheeks together with playful cooing noises. “I will literally bite you, Barnes. Quit it,” he laughs, ducking back.

“You ain’t no fun,” Bucky sighs but he doesn’t try it again. “You need a ride to work again?”

“Yeah,” Tony says but then pauses. “Actually … there’s someone I need to see first.”

Bucky lifts both his eyebrows in interest.

.

.

.

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hey honey you at work?  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** where’d you go?

 **youknowwhoiam:** not at work  
 **youknowwhoiam:** not yet at least  
 **youknowwhoiam:** i’m with mr hogan

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** oh ok  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** bucky with you?

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah he’s my ride

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** you guys gonna be long?  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** peter and i are brainstorming breakfast ideas

 **youknowwhoiam:** we’re good  
 **youknowwhoiam:** we already ate

 **brooklynfisticuffs:**... 

 **youknowwhoiam:** sorry lol  
 **youknowwhoiam:** i can get you something otw back  
 **youknowwhoiam:** what do you want?

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** loyalty 

 **youknowwhoiam:** omg don't do this lmao

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** commitment 

 **youknowwhoiam:** S T E V E

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** patience

 **youknowwhoiam:** you’re such a baby lmao 

.

.

.

“You wanna do what with my business?” Mr. Hogan asks while he treats Tony and Bucky to his special blend banana-mango frozen smoothie as they all sit in his small living room.

Tony is sold on it the moment he takes the first sip, and holds up a finger to suck it all the way down to the midpoint of his cup. He gets nothing but brain freeze and amused looks for his efforts. 

“Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth,” Bucky suggests between sips.

Tony does and is glad to note that it does help. Then he says, “I want to buy it and turn it into a chain of workshops planted in low-income neighborhoods as a resource to kids who have an interest in engineering or robotics but lack the resources to explore it.”

“You know all the stuff I got down there is secondhand, right? Donated. Bartered and bargained,” Mr. Hogan points out but he’s not saying no either. 

Tony leaps at the opening by saying, “Exactly. I don’t want that to change. Anything new will only be tools and such they can use while they engineer and build. That way they can still bargain for parts if they want to take their projects home or finalize anything they plan on keeping once it’s done. Donations will still be accepted.”

Mr. Hogan makes a thoughtful sound as he drinks his smoothie. Then he asks, “Where’s all that money going to?”

“Scholarships awarded during competitions that can showcase their projects and give them a chance to be sponsored by local colleges. It’ll never stay in-house,” Tony swears as he finishes the last of his smoothie and contemplates asking for more.

Mr. Hogan must read it off his expression because he hefts himself to his feet and signals for Tony to hand his empty cup over. While he wanders into his kitchen to pour Tony another serving, he says, “And what about me? I’m just supposed t’ go into early retirement or something?”

“If you wanted,” Tony offers carefully and waits until Mr. Hogan has handed the (now filled) cup back to him to add, “Or you can come work for me.”

Mr. Hogan lifts an amused eyebrow. “Oh how the tables have turned,” he jokes. “What’d’ya got for me, kid?”

“I - well, I need a driver,” Tony replies, taking careful sips. “Is that - would you be interested in that?”

Mr. Hogan continues drinking his smoothie down, holding Tony’s gaze until the Omega squirms. Then he smiles and says, “Yeah, alright. I’m tired of dealing with the IRS anyway, and I loved my store but it wasn’t my heart and soul. What you plan on doing with it is way better than what I would've. It was just something to pass the time with until I hit the grave. Something tells me I’ll find much more excitement with you.”

Bucky snorts.

Tony narrows his eyes as he fights down an answering grin. “Why, Mr. Hogan - I resent that remark.”

“Yeah? We’ll see, I guess.” Mr. Hogan shrugs, lifting his cup in a mock toast before he says, “And for the love of NYC, call me Happy. Stop all that ‘Mr. Hogan' nonsense. I’m pushing forty but you make me feel older than all that when you say it.”

“Happy,” Tony concedes. “I’ll have my legal team draft up the paperwork and get you connected with HR. If you’re up to doing that today, we can go shopping for a car.”

Happy’s eyes gleam with approval at that. “You better wrap your drink up then because I’m ready to go.”

Tony snorts but finishes the last of his smoothie before nodding to Bucky as they all stand to leave. He thanks Bucky when he drops them off, assuring him that they’ll be fine later on so there’s no need for him to pick them up.

Happy is very interested to hear about all the events that led up to him working for Hammer Industries and Tony spends most of the elevator ride to the HR department, and the time Happy spends filling out his paperwork, catching him up to speed. 

“Your old man better pray I never meet him,” Happy says between signing disclaimer after disclaimer. “Haven’t set foot in a ring in years and swore I never would but for him, I’d make an exception.”

Tony smiles while Happy is too distracted to notice, a little amazed about how sincere and serious the older Beta man is about that. He can’t help but be glad that his old life was so horrible because he never would have found a better one full of people who care about him.

Despite his past, he feels incredibly lucky.

.

.

.

Tony doesn’t know _why_ he’s even surprised that Hammer pops out of nowhere before the ink even dries on Happy’s paperwork to magic the Beta man away for lunch.

“I just wanna get to know the man a little better, Annie,” Hammer says with an easy grin, shouldering Tony’s exasperated looks. “I’m a little hurt you didn’t loop me in any sooner, but that’s all water under the bridge. You know I can't stay mad at you.”

“You did a background check, didn’t you?” Tony asks knowingly, following after them as Hammer tries to quickly lead an amused Happy towards the elevators.

“Nothing is ever too extreme when it comes to your safety, little star,” Hammer merely replies, shaking Happy’s hand after he presses the call button. “And can I just say, for the record, I am a big fan. Boy, that fight you had with Ignacio back in ‘09 still lives on in infamy in my mind. The way you tired him out before you went in for the kill? Chef’s kiss all around. You like sushi? I know a great sushi place just a block up from here.”

“Wow, no invitation for me? Okay, whatever,” Tony huffs, watching the two older men get all chummy and friendly with each other as they all climb into the elevator. “Maybe you two should go car shopping together since you’re such pals.”

“Great idea!” Hammer exclaims just as the elevator doors shut. “You know, I have a guy. He does spectacular personalizing. You want face recognition push-start? He can do it.”

“I was joking!” Tony stabs at the floor number for the biochemistry faction.

“You gotta work on your punchlines then, kiddo. That didn’t land,” Hammer replies sweetly, smiling wider when Tony slaps his hand away when the older Alpha tries to tweak the his nose affectionately. “Anyway,” he says, turning to (a still deeply amused) Happy. “This guy isn’t so much _my_ guy as it is my buddy Vanko’s. You know what? I should introduce you. Something tells me you would get along fantastically with my cuddly Russian bear. He’s got that whole ‘rough around the edges but heart of gold’ schtick as well.”

“Oh my god, bye,” Tony mutters, exiting the moment the elevator stops on his floor. “Please keep Happy in one piece,” he begs without turning around.

“No promises, Annie!” Hammer exclaims as Happy snorts.

Tony rolls his eyes and makes his way through the labs in search of Bruce. He finds the older Omega at a station, staring down a microscope. “Hey, Bruce,” he greets, sitting on a nearby stool. “Got any news for me?”

“I just might,” Bruce muses absentmindedly as he adjusts the dials on his microscope with a concentrated frown. “Here, take a look.” He rolls out of the way.

Tony glides his stool closer and peers down into the microscope. “Is this Peter’s blood?”

“Yup,” Bruce confirms, pressing his fingers to the corner of his eyes before he shoves on his glasses. “The oxygen content in the cells are constantly changing and yet remain unchanging simultaneous.”

Tony frowns as he watches the sample, playing with the dials. “What, like a time loop?”

“Exactly like a time loop. Normally blood ages or clots when it’s away from the body. This is one of the samples I left out overnight for exposure,” Bruce goes on to say and collects the samples to motion for Tony to his office where they can talk more freely in private. Once there, he pulls out a mobile chalkboard with all sorts of formulas in relation to Peter’s blood results scribbled across the face of it. “That sample you saw was still as fresh as when I drew it from Peter’s body.” He waits until Tony straightens and meets his gaze before he continues, “That means his entire body is operating in three spatial dimensions, quite literally. Which would explain the random bouts of exhaustion? Since general relativity equates time and space, and gravity affects time ...”

“When Peter tried to realign the time-watch to full functionality, he missed the mark with interloping a G-Force equivalent,” Tony interjects, already way ahead of what Bruce is trying to get at. “So instead of folding time closer to the point he wanted to get to, he actually _inverted_ the G-Force equivalent, causing it to apply in a direction the human body isn't designed to handle.”

“We might have just discovered the basic formula for time travel,” Bruce adds. “In theory, to undo what Peter did, you need to achieve a precision of one part on one thousand trillion.”

“That’s, what? One millimeter over a billion kilometers?” Tony says, jumping to his feet to approach the chalkboard. “You mind if I…?”

“By all means,” Bruce says stepping back with his arms crossed and watching Tony erase what’s there to scribble out the math as quickly as it’s flashing through his mind. 

“Right. So.” Tony continues scribbling out lines and lines of math. “I've been pondering with the idea of atoms in time. As we know time naturally moves only forward. And atoms are the foundation of the universe. They are the same as they we're billions and billions of years ago. But they change. They form new materials, new elements.”

“Like Carbon-14,” Bruce murmurs thoughtfully, stepping up to add to Tony’s formula. They do a dance over it, fluid in their synchronization. “You take a 100-year-old spoon and travel with it to the day it was forged, and now the two share the same 'matrixes' they belong to, in that particular place in time.”

“Which means the 'missing' atoms try to fill equally both items,” Tony goes on to say as they continue to write and rewrite. “So the first one is suddenly aged by half the time the second item is older while the atoms move to the second one. Therefore -”

“It isn't the traveling through time itself that does the damage,” Bruce interjects as both of them sport manic grins. “It's the method you're using.”

“The time-watch hurtles a person through time in a way that’s more akin to pulling on a parachute and hopping in a trebuchet to travel, rather than a nice smooth car ride,” Tony goes on to say as they continue to revise and rewrite the formula as it unfolds before them. “In theory, even if you don't hit something or miss the target, you get exposed to a lot of Gs at the start, middle, and end, as you accelerate or, decelerate.”

“Subsequent refinements will lead to a smoother start or finish to the travel, and even later you might get the equivalent of suspension to make the journey more comfortable.” Bruce pauses and then makes a noise that sounds like the incoherent version of ‘eureka!’. “Tony. Tony, some people are groggy for days just crossing continents.”

Tony freezes as it all falls into place. “It’s a time lag,” he mumbles and now he’s thinking about what Sharon said to him once. “The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.” He turns to Bruce, grabbing him by the shoulders with a laugh. “The time-watch opens a portal! Anything passing the surface - let's call it 'event horizon' - of the portal is instantly transported to the target coordinates.”

“The more exact those coordinates, the better the jump,” Bruce mumbles, dazed by what they have just discovered. “Did we just, um - did we -”

“Crack time travel? Yeah, I think so.”

Bruce laughs disbelievingly as he wanders over to his desk and pulls out a bottle of finely aged whiskey. He pours himself a shot and tosses it back. Then another. Once he blinks past the burn, he says, “I’d offer you some but I don’t think that’s wise considering your condition.”

“No, that wouldn’t be -” Tony freezes and shoots Bruce a startled look. “What?”

“I noticed the first time we met,” Bruce merely says. “I won’t say anything. I know it’s early stages.”

Tony just nods slowly, still stumped. He sits down on a nearby couch as he tries to process everything. Then he says, “It’s killing him, isn’t it? Being here.”

“Radiation poisoning isn’t always detectable for some time,” Bruce gently confirms. “The neurons in his mind are attempting to morph and evolve which means his memories of the future are attempting to sync with whatever he changed in the past. Over time, this will likely cause him to have massive seizures. He’ll go into shock if we try to reverse the de-aging process. We’re going to have to send him back as is so that damage can undo itself when he's reconnected with assigned atoms.”

“He actually saved his own life when he meddled,” Tony remarks, trying to think past the irrational fears clouding his judgement that urges him to just keep Peter as is for the rest of forever if only to protect him. He knows he can't. He shouldn’t. And yet - “How many tests should we run before we send him back? That could take a while, right? We’d need to be sure nothing went wrong and - you know, what? We don’t have to rush this. We shouldn’t rush it. What’s that saying about not diving into the ocean after eating? Yeah, that seems to apply here.”

The look on Bruce’s face is a mutant child of pity and understanding. “Tony …”

“Boy, look at the time!” Tony blurts. “I should - I need to - but you’ve been great. Thank you so much, Dr. Banner - Bruce.” 

Bruce stands, opening his mouth like he’s getting ready to say something.

Tony can’t even deal. He flees before the older Omega utters a single syllable.

.

.

.

 **downtoskirth:** un-fucking-believable  
 **downtoskirth:** they passed proposition 12

 **youknowwhoiam:** i’m guessing that’s bad?

 **downtoskirth:**!!!!  
 **downtoskirth:** lifted from the Washington Post: _“in the interest of the depleting population, in accordance with proposition 12, a doctor would be well within their rights to deny birth control, deny abortions, or essentially hold power of attorney over an Omega’s reproductive rights, or lack thereof”_

 **youknowwhoiam:** what  
 **youknowwhoiam:** the fuck

 **downtoskirth:**!!!!  
 **downtoskirth:** this is what dr foster was trying to warn us about  
 **downtoskirth:** it rode the coattails of that stupid child-rearing incentive  
 **downtoskirth:** fucking politicians snuck it in

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh fuck that all the way into space

_downtoskirth emphasized youknowwhoiam’s ‘oh fuck that all the way into space’ message_

.

.

.

“And this is nondairy?” Jarvis asks as they walk along the pier at Coney Island like they’d done a week before.

Tony nods with a smile, licking away at his own triple scoop of cookie butter ice cream. “Hardly tastes that way, right?”

“Indeed, Master Anthony,” Jarvis agrees with a warm tone, navigating around a flock of seagulls.

Tony walks right through them, causing them to scatter and he laughs when Jarvis gives him an admonishing look he hasn’t seen since he was a child and programmed the kitchen toaster to fly.

“You realize they are riddled with disease,” Jarvis scolds, grabbing Tony by the shoulders to turn him this way and that, giving him a once over. “You ought to be more careful.”

“You worry too much, J!” Tony crows before giving his ice cream a long lick.

Jarvis sighs but it sounds more fond rather than perturbed. “Yes, I suppose I can’t protect you from everything,” he remarks softly.

Tony grips the base of his cone a little tighter when the comment makes him think of Peter. He turns and walks over to the railing so he can peer out across the ocean.

Jarvis joins him, glancing his way every now and again with that air of patience he always has when he knows something is on Tony’s mind.

Tony watches the clouds and says, “What do you do when you need to let someone go, but it’s -” He pauses to swallow the wad of emotion that forms in his throat. “But you’re too scared to?”

“You think about how much you love them,” Jarvis replies, allowing their shoulders to brush and Tony feels instantly comforted by the close proximity. “And you let them go anyway.”

“Yeah?” Tony smiles sadly, glancing at the older Omega. “You talk like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

“I might be,” Jarvis replies, glancing at him before looking away quickly.

Tony sighs and spends a few minutes licking at his ice cream, watching a flock of seagulls swarm and circle overhead. “I figured out how to send Peter back,” he admits.

“But you want to keep him close,” Jarvis guesses, hitting right on the mark.

“I want him safe. I want him to never know pain or suffer,” Tony says as he massages the bridge of his nose. “Is that so wrong that I want that?”

“Every good parent wants that,” Jarvis replies. “It’s what I wanted for - for my son.” 

“Excuse me? Did you just say your _son?_ ” Tony jerks away from the railing to look at Jarvis with alarm. “You have a - you’re someone’s -” He can’t even say it. A sudden wave of irrational jealousy surges up inside of him; something dark and possessive manifests in his thoughts. He swallows down his anger as best as he can while he squeezes the life out of his cone. “You have a son. You never said,” he says, a little coldly.

Jarvis frowns in amusement, his brown eyes tracing over Tony's facial features. “I’m not allowed to talk about my personal life. I’ve already said too much,” he explains, reaching out to pluck a bird feather from Tony’s hair with something soft and sentimental floating over his expression. 

 _Do you love him more than me?_ Tony wants to ask, infuriated, feeling slightly betrayed. _Do you think about him all the time? Do you wish he was here with you instead? Am I just a replacement?_

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Master Anthony?” Jarvis asks, narrowing his eyes as his amusement grows. 

Tony tries to wipe his expression clear and shrugs. “Just trying to absorb the fact that you have a _son,_ ” he replies, slightly bitter.

“Ah.” Jarvis fishes some napkins out of his pocket and uses them to wipe Tony’s hand clean. “You needn’t think too hard on it. He doesn’t know he’s mine.”

“Oh.” Tony watches Jarvis clean the ice cream that’s dripped all over his hand due to the fact he was strangling his cone in fury. He feels really guilty now for resenting someone he’s never even met. “I’m sorry.” He fidgets as Jarvis continues to clean his hand with a tenderness that makes him want to cry. “Do you - do you ever wonder how he is?”

Jarvis smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his whiskey brown eyes. “I’d like to imagine that he’s doing quite well. Married. Kids. That old tale,” he supposes before pulling away and discarding both their ice creams. 

Tony bites his bottom lip and shuffles from foot to foot. “If you wanted … we could - we could find him. You know. After your contract ends,” he offers, even when it kills him to do so. He doesn't want to share, but he's not so selfish that he wouldn't help out if Jarvis needed him to.

Jarvis is back to looking amused again, but he cups a warm hand against the side of Tony’s face and Tony doesn’t really care to understand why there is exasperated mirth dancing in his eyes. “A good heart is worth gold,” he says. “And yours, my dear boy, is an absolute treasure trove.”

Tony inhales sharply and feels the heat build behind his eyes. He reaches up with a shaky hand and rests it over Jarvis’s, wishing beyond everything that he could scent the older Omega as his but he knows he can’t - that it would be too forward, too presumptuous.

“I think,” Jarvis goes on to say, holding his gaze with nothing but warmth and affection. “That deep down, you always knew what you needed to do for Peter. You didn’t me to figure that out.”

“I always need you,” Tony says quickly and blushes. “I’ll - I’ll always need you.”

Jarvis smiles and pulls him into a hug. “It’ll be okay, Master Anthony. You’re much stronger than you think. Just look at how far your bravery has gotten you.” He presses a hand to Tony’s stomach briefly before he pulls away at a respectable distance that Tony is quickly coming to despise. “You’ll do what’s right. Because that’s who you are.”

Tony shoulders Jarvis’s confident, proud gaze, and pushes through the pang in his chest. “Yeah,” he agrees. Then he offers an arm, grinning when Jarvis chuckles indulgently and loops their arms together. “Doing the right thing suck sometimes.”

“That it does,” Jarvis agrees as they start the trek back to the start of the pier. “That it does.”

.

.

.

 **youknowwhoiam:** miles are you free to help with something later tonight?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** if you need me, my guy  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** then you got me

 **youknowwhoiam:** great thanks  
 **youknowwhoiam:** just for some context  
 **youknowwhoiam:** let me warn you that there is time-travel involved

 **sunflowersandstickers:** !!!  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** i  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** am listening  
 **sunflowersandstickers:** i n t e n t l y

.

.

.

“Dada!” Peter exclaims happily, hurling his little body at Tony’s legs the minute he finishes unlocking the front door to step over the threshold. “Missed you,” he mumbles, smiling up at him with all his teeth.

“Oh, _bambino,_ ” Tony says shakily as he sinks to his knees and grabs Peter, clutching him close and holding him tightly. There’s a tightness in his chest, a balloon of anxiety and sadness expanding inside his ribcage. He’s trying not to cry as he buries his face in the side of Peter’s neck with a deep inhale.

Peter’s small fingers thread through his hair tenderly. “Why crying, Da?” he asks softly with a voice of concern. “You okay?” He tightens his arms around Tony’s neck to squeeze him closely in that way that Tony adores. “Love you, Dada,” he promises quietly, still trying to comfort his distressed Oma.

Tony continues to silently cry as he thinks, _God, I love you. I love you so much and I don’t want to let you go. I want you to stay where I can keep you happy all the time._

The sound of footsteps approaching vaguely registers until the rich, earthy scent of rich mahogany and cinnamon spice fills senses and causes Tony to tremble and make a helpless sound. 

“Hey, honey, what’s wrong?” 

Tony shakes his head, clutching Peter closer to him but being careful that it’s not too tight.

Peter says, “Da sad. We make happy, Papa.”

Steve chuckles indulgently and shifts around them until he’s sitting behind Tony so he can reel both his Omegas back to cuddle them close.

Tony shifts without ever displacing Peter from his arms, and climbs into Steve’s lap to lean his side into the Alpha’s chest. He calms a little, after a long while, as Peter and Steve wait him out, offering him comfort. He smiles to himself as Steve stamps the back of his neck with affectionate kisses.

“I saw smile!” Peter exclaims excitedly. “Papa, he smile!”

“Oh he did, did he?” Steve says in a sly tone that Tony does not trust _at all._ “What say you we put a little more momentum in his happiness, Braeburn?”

Peter nods quickly, wiggling out of Tony’s arms with a lot of effort.

Before Tony knows it, he’s being tickled within an inch of his life. Fingers, both big and small, flutter up and down his sides, under his armpits, on the sides of his neck until he’s crying mercy between bouts of choked up laughter and tears of pure mirth. They only let up when he begs and shouts ‘white flag’.

Peter and Steve sit back to watch him catch his breath with identical looks of fond satisfaction. 

Tony smiles back at them wordlessly.

“You feel better?” Steve asks, watching him sit up, his side of the bond glimmering with reds and pinks.

Tony nods and tugs Peter close again, kissing him on the cheek before he turns to cup a hand over the side of Steve’s face. He strokes his thumb across the arc of Steve’s cheek as he watches the motion, forcing himself not to think too much. 

“You ready to tell us what’s wrong?” Steve asks gently.

Tony smiles sadly. “Do me a favor,” he says instead. “I dropped a bag I was carrying on the porch - grab it for me?”

Steve has that mulish expression he gets when he wants to push an issue. But he ends up nodding and standing to go fetch what Tony is asking for.

Tony scoops Peter up in his arms, landing exaggerated kisses all over his small face as he carries the tiny Omega over to their nest.

Peter squeals in delight, kicking his legs out but he’s careful not to kick Tony in the stomach with sweet consideration.

Tony tosses him into a mound of pillows, laughing when Peter crawls out of the swell of it to glare in outrage. “Yeah, you just wait. You’re gonna really love me in a second, _bambino,_ ” he says with a wink.

Peter’s unhappy stare turns into confusion as Steve wanders in with a large box that nearly eclipses him.

Steve knows to set it down before the tiny Omega without Tony having to say anything.

“Go on,” Tony encourages with a grin as he leans into Steve’s side when the Alpha wanders closer to him. He taps his earpiece and says, “FRIDAY?”

“ _Already recording, Boss._ ” 

Tony smiles because his girl always knows what he needs.

Peter tears through the gift wrapping and his eyes widen before he lets out a high pitched scream of excitement that nearly busts the windows wide open. His babbling becomes so incoherent that even Tony can't decipher it, causing him to laugh.

“Hey, hey, slow down, Braeburn. Breathe.” Steve’s smiling widely as well, his side of the bond blooming with fond hues of candy pinks. “What do you got there?”

“LEGO! Da buy me - he buy me LEGO!” Peter exclaims breathlessly, slapping his chubby hands on the top of the box while he jumps up and down over and over and over like he’s got so much energy he doesn’t know what to do with. “ _Star Wars!_ Death Star!”

Steve blanches at that. “Death Star? What’s that? Should I be worried?”

Tony and Peter shoot him matching incredulous looks.

“What?”

“Have you never seen _Star Wars?_ ” Tony asks and gawks when the Alpha confirms it with a headshake.

Steve’s quick to add, “I know _of_ it, though.”

“Not enough!” Peter exclaims and Tony wholeheartedly agrees.

Steve rolls his eyes with a huff. “Fine. Why don’t we remedy that while we put your ‘globe of destruction’ together?”

And that’s how Sarah finds the three of them when she gets in from work: building the LEGO Death Star model while Little Ben projects _Empire Strikes Back_ on the dining room wall. And because Sarah is a true MVP, instead of questioning it, she just joins them and they get through half of the construction before Miles shows up with a stack of pizza boxes.

The five of them juggle building the model with watching _Return of the Jedi_ and eating slices of pizza. 

The model is finished just sometime in the late evening hours and Peter falls asleep on a mound of pillows, curled around it possessively with streaks of pizza sauce smeared across the lower half of his face.

Tony saves a picture of it as the background to his home screen on his phone, just for him to see. Then he pockets his phone to face Miles, Sarah, and Steve to say, “I figured out how to send him home.”

The three Alphas listen with attentive ears as he explains the discovery he made with Bruce earlier that day.

“I’ve gotten so used to having the little darling around,” Sarah comments by the end of it all, one hand pressed to the side of her face as she glances at her sleeping grandson. “Aye, I’ll miss him.” She sighs before shaking it off to cheer herself up. “But it’s not forever. We’ll see him again, won’t we?”

“Tony and I will see what we can do about that,” Steve remarks wryly, huffing when Tony slaps his arm for the dicey comment while Miles laughs.

Sarah sends Steve a flat look for that before she asks, “So tonight then?”

“Tonight,” Tony confirms and swallows past the wave of reluctance that passes over him. “With Miles’s assistance.”

“You need me, I’m here,” Miles agrees, rubbing his hands together as they wander over to the dining room table where all the parts of the time-watch are strewn piece by piece.

“FRIDAY?”

“ _I’m here,_ ” FRIDAY speaks from his laptop.

Miles yelps in surprise. “Yo! What was that?”

“Oh, right.” Tony makes a gesture to his laptop. “FRIDAY, Miles. Miles, FRIDAY. She’s my AI.”

“Wonders never cease with you, Tones,” Miles mutters before he greets FRIDAY, and they spend a few minutes getting to know each other. “Ay, I like her,” he decides when they’ve wrapped up the small talk.

“ _Likewise,_ ” FRIDAY chimes pleasantly.

“Alright.” Tony claps his hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

.

.

.

The complete restoration of the time-watch happens at midnight, mainly because Steve offers himself for additional assistance while Sarah soaks up the last of her cuddles with Peter while she still can as he remains asleep. 

Tony hands the time-watch over to Miles because they both agreed he was the best option for testing it, as he had less of a chance to be affected by any radioactive backlash, seeing as he’s already dealing with contamination from the spider bite.

“Where should I aim?” Miles asks while he fiddles with the dials.

“Well,” Tony starts as he thinks. Then he says, “FRIDAY, make a mark in my calendar for seven months from now. Let’s say, I don’t know … February. The … third. At … three pm, I guess? To meet Miles at his grandmother’s apartment.”

“ _Marked,_ ” FRIDAY confirms.

“Okay, cool.” Miles nods, taking a deep breath before he enters the date, time, and location on the time-watch. He meets Tony’s gaze and says, “Here goes nothing.” and claps his hand over the face of the time-watch to activate it.

Steve clutches Tony close as they watch Miles disappear in a flare of bioluminescent rainbow light.

Tony counts the minutes until he returns. He makes it to fifteen when Miles reappears with a look of wide-eyed wonder. “What is it? Are you okay? Does something hurt? Tell me what hurts!” he demands, turning the younger Alpha this way and that way while his panic escalates as Miles continues to silently gawk at him.

Finally, Miles seems to snap out of it before he jumps back, pointing a shocked finger right at Tony’s face to exclaim, “Are you pregnant?”

Tony blinks before it registers and he laughs. “Oh shit, yeah - I must’ve looked like a whale when we met, huh?”

Miles grips two fistfuls of his curly fro and loses his mind. “Oh my god! Oh my _god!_ This is why you smell like some sorta candy factory.” Then he blinks before he gives a goofy grin. “I’mma be an uncle!” he exclaims, throwing his arms around Tony and sweeping him up into a hug.

“Oof, easy, Big Guy,” Tony complains breathlessly. “Can’t be an uncle if you suffocate me and your niece to death.”

“It’s a girl? It’s a girl!” Miles shouts, right in Tony’s ear, causing the Omega to flinch and make a wounded sound. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushes to say, loosening his grip. “I’m just so -” He makes a blasting noise with his mouth as he fists his hands next to his temples before expanding them in the gesture for ‘mind blown’. “Have you thought of names yet? I would like to offer Miles for consideration. Totally gender-neutral.”

“We can table that for later, Miles. Tell me how you feel,” Tony presses. “Any negative feedback like nausea or dizziness?”

“Oh. Nah, yeah, I’m straight,” Miles reassures as he gropes at himself. “It worked, Tony. You were right about the specifics of the date being the key to success. I’m all good. It was kinda like being sucked into a vacuum. Trippy.”

Tony sighs in relief and nods. “Good. That’s - yeah. Great.” He turns to Sarah and Steve, who are trying to gently wake Peter up. He watches the tiny Omega give an adorable yawn, blinking awake with glassy eyes. Something clenches in his chest as Peter blinks in confusion while Steve and Sarah explain what’s going on. 

Peter looks at Tony sharply when it finally sinks in. “I - I go home now?”

Tony’s heart twists violently in his chest and his hands twitch at his sides with the urge to wrap the tiny Omega up in his arms and never let him go. He barely manages not to give in as he lowers himself to one knee when Peter approaches him. “That’s right, _bambino._  I have to send you back,” he says while his chest aches and aches as Miles hands over the time-watch.

Peter bites his bottom lip unsurely, watching Tony fasten on the time-watch to his small wrist from underneath his long lashes.

“What’s with the long face?” Tony tries to joke, even as his hands shake while he sets the dials. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, _bambino_. I’ll be waiting for you on the other side, okay? I did the math and figured out where you needed to land so you can reappear the right age as when you left. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Tears well up in Peter’s eyes as he silently nods.

“ _No, no tears, my angel,_ ” Tony coos in Italian, wiping his cheeks even while tears spill down his own cheeks. “ _Don’t you think I would keep you if I could? But I can’t. Not yet._ ”

Peter gives a wet hiccup as he tries to look brave. “ _I love you, Oma,_ ” he swears in Italian. 

Tony huffs with a sniff. “ _I know,_ ” he says, ignoring the way the others are watching them. “ _I love you too. So very much. With every cell. With every atom._ ” He reaches out to tickle the tiny Omega as he adds, “ _I love you on a subatomic level. Ends of the universe and back. Four score and many more. Many, many more._ ”

Peter giggles a little, squirming and gifting Tony with a toothy smile.

Tony leans forward and kisses him on the cheek before stepping back to let Steve and Sarah say their goodbyes, which are just as tearful as Tony’s was.

Miles hands the LEGO Death Star over to Peter as he ruffles the tiny Omega’s wild chocolate curls while he gives his own goodbyes. 

Peter observes all of their faces one final time when they step back to give him a wide berth. He takes a deep breath to steel himself and offers them a shy smile. “See you soon,” he promises and claps his small hand over the face of his time-watch.

Tony watches with a heavy heart as his son is swallowed up in a flare of bioluminescent rainbow light. He stares at the empty spot long after Peter has gone until he’s hit with a sudden wave of bone-weary exhaustion that kind of makes him sway.

Both Miles and Steve quickly reach out to steady him, expressing their concern even as Tony tries to wave them off, insisting that he’s fine, voice cracking with emotion.

Of course, they don’t buy it and Steve winds up escorting him down to their bedroom to help him get ready for bed after he exchanges a few flat goodbyes with Miles and Sarah. 

It’s not until Steve’s got the both of them tucked deeply in bed, clutching Tony to his chest while he combs his long fingers through Tony’s hair, does he say, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just you and me now, go ahead and let it out. You don’t have to hold it in. I know how hard that was for you. You’re so good, you know that? Perfect.”

Tony tucks his face in the side of Steve’s neck with a rough inhale, shaky hands fisted into the back of Steve’s shirt as a strangled sob works its way out of his throat.

He weeps for the rest of the night and Steve remains with him the whole time, offering words of comfort and encouragement while he holds him throughout it all.

That doesn’t stop it from hurting any less, but it helps.

.

.

.

Tony’s eyelids flutter open to daylight streaming in from the windows. His throat feels tight and his eyes feel swollen. He feels hollowed out - quiet on the inside like the empty halls of an abandoned manor. He shifts his legs under the covers before he twists to face the door where Steve is leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching him with a mild expression.

Tony doesn’t say anything.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks as he approaches the bed.

Tony takes a moment to rub at his face before he sits up and lets the sheets pool around his waist. “I’m up,” he merely says.

Steve sits down at the edge of the bed, pressing one hand to the matress as he twists his upper body so he can face Tony. “Were you going to get ready for work?” he asks.

“No,” Tony says with a raspy voice, rubbing his knuckles under his left collarbone in a sweeping circle there when the muscle twinges. “I think I’m just gonna … work from home today. Take the rest of the weekend.”

Steve nods with solemn understanding.

Tony pauses when he notices that Steve is dressed for the day. “Are you going somewhere?” he asks carefully.

“Yeah. Yes,” Steve says, straightening like he senses how off Tony’s tone is. “I was just going to head to the museum. Submit all my info and get processed with HR, you know?”

Tony frowns slightly, brow furrowed as he says, “No … I don’t know actually.”

“Well, I mean.” Steve ducks his gaze as he scratches the side of his nose. “I told you that today would technically be my first day.”

“You said that you were thinking of starting today but you didn’t actually _say_ that you were going to start today,” Tony points out, annoyed. 

Steve sighs heavily and shakes his head. “I understand you feel that way, but I remember the conversation differently. I mean, I don’t have to go. If you want me to stay, I can stay. It doesn’t have to be an argument.”

“It’s _not_ an argument!” Tony snaps before he bites his tongue and takes a moment to calm down. “It’s not an argument,” he repeats. “If you want to start today, that’s fine. I just wish you would acknowledge that you weren’t exactly clear about it.”

“I kinda feel like this isn’t even about whether I was clear or not. Would you like for me to stay?” Steve presses, tone a bit impatient.

“You know what? You don’t really sound like you even want to stay, so I’m definitely not going to force you,” Tony fumes.

“Can you tell me what you want? I really don’t understand why you’re upset with me. You don’t have to do all this dancing,” Steve replies flatly with an unimpressed inflection to his voice that Tony does not care for at all. “Use your words, Tony - it’s pretty simple.”

“Wow,” Tony laughs coldly and climbs out of bed so he can storm to the bathroom. “Yeah, fuck you.” He slams the door shut before pressing his back against it as his hands shake. He listens to see what Steve will do and clicks his tongue angrily when he hears the Alpha simply retreat.

A few more minutes and it sounds like Steve has left the house completely.

Tony blows a stream of air out the side of his mouth in aggravation while he bumps the back of his head against the door with gentle thuds over and over again.

.

.

.

 **youknowwhoiam:** hey are you free to meet up?

 **downtoskirth:** that’s fine!  
 **downtoskirth:** is everything okay?

 **youknowwhoiam:** yes  
 **youknowwhoiam:** no  
 **youknowwhoiam:** idk

 **downtoskirth:** talk to me

 **youknowwhoiam:** steve and i just had a fight and i need some perspective

 **downtoskirth:** oh gotcha  
 **downtoskirth:** tell you what  
 **downtoskirth:** let me get eddie dropped off at his summer program and i’ll head your way in about  
 **downtoskirth:** let’s make it an hour?

 **youknowwhoiam:** works for me

.

.

.

“I would have been direct too!” Dora exclaims from the dressing room of the boutique they are currently browsing to find the perfect outfit for her date later this evening. 

Tony is sitting in the armchair just outside at the opposite end of the hall where there is a wall of three strategically angled mirrors, flipping through a gossip magazine. 

They had spent the whole drive from Sarah’s house to Fifth Avenue with Tony airing out his grievances, shedding his woes, and catching Dora up on everything she’s missed (minus the pregnancy).

“How’s it going in there?” Tony calls out as he skims an amusing column about Hammer, where apparently the rumor is that he’s trying to steal Beyonce from Jay Z. 

“I don’t think magenta is my color!” Dora calls back before she stumbles out of her dressing room looking like a cheesy rom-com from the late 1980’s vomited all over her. She spreads her arms with a flat look.

Tony snickers while he wrinkles his nose and gives her a thumb’s down.

“Okay, this is a no.” Dora goes back into the dressing room to try on the next thing. “And I mean it, Tony! I would have been direct with Steve too! You clearly had a difficult ordeal with letting Peter go. It basically equates to giving your own child up. He should have stayed!”

“Yeah, but there’s also a part of me that feels guilty, you know? Like I’m being super irrational and clingy.”

“And? So what?” Dora volleys back. “He’s your husband - fiancé - whatever! That’s what he’s there for!”

“Well - maybe. But what if I’m expecting too much?” Tony questions, flipping to the next page of his magazine, looking at the pictures but not really seeing them. “Or expecting more than I should. I’m always roping him into my drama.”

“Yeah but _how_ do you rope him in? Most of what has happened to you two hasn’t been your fault or his! I’m calling bullshit.”

“No, I know,” Tony insists anxiously. “But I’m always leaning on him! Sometimes I feel like it’s more than when he leans on me. What if I overwhelmed him and now he thinks I have too much baggage? I mean for fuck’s sake, he was recently accused of sexual harassment and now he has what could be this great opportunity with his new job but I’m too busy acting like this - this ... _spoiled_ rich bitch.”

“You are not some spoiled rich bitch, Tony!” Dora protests as she storms out of the dressing room in a sleek black dress that hugs her curves with small sunflowers patterned all over it, adding a touch of beautiful softness. “And Steve isn’t perfect either,” she goes on to say with her hands on her hips, cheeks rosy with her indignation. “But you have to be clear about what you need from him because he’s not always going to guess accurately or get it right each time. As proven recently. If you need him to be there for you, let him know that. He should be there for you when you ask but you have to ask.”

“I know,” Tony groans miserably. “I guess - what it really is - I just.” He takes a moment to sigh and steel himself to speak the truth. “What if I need him too often, you know? Like. What if it becomes a chore?”

Dora sinks to her knees before him and grabs his hands. “Loving you,” she starts, gripping his hands firmly. “Should _never_ feel like a chore for him. Is it a chore for you with Steve?”

Tony shakes his head 'no' confidently.

“You guys are good together,” Dora insists with a smile. “You really are. I hope to have what you both have. But in saying that, I understand it means that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows. This won’t be the last time you two fight. But it won’t matter how much you fight because what matters is how you _make up_.”

Tony squeezes her hands back with a grateful nod. Then he says, “That’s the one, by the way.” 

Dora blinks in confusion.

“The dress,” Tony clarifies, jutting his chin towards what she’s wearing.

“Oh!” Dora laughs sheepishly as she stumbles to her feet, thanking him when he helps her catch her balance. “Yeah? You think?”

“Dora,” Tony says, catching her gaze seriously. “If you wear that, I guarantee he’s going to fall madly in love with you the moment he sets his eyes your way.”

Dora presses her hands to her mouth to hide her flattered smile while her gaze gets dreamy and her cheeks turn pink. Then she clears her throat and makes a show of flattening out any wrinkles with her hands. 

“Hairdresser next?” Tony suggests with a grin, leaping to his feet to toss an arm over her shoulders and turn her towards the mirrors. “I’m due for a cut myself,” he remarks as they eye each other’s reflections and then their own. “How do you feel about lingerie?”

“Tony!” Dora exclaims with startled laughter, bumping their hips together playfully. “I don’t know how you think this date is going to end but -”

“I made no implications at all!” Tony says, springing back and holding up his hands to show he’s harmless. “But there’s nothing wrong with being the only one who knows what’s underneath that pretty dress. I’m trying to help you feel empowered, is all.”

Dora hums skeptically, narrowing her eyes at him before she rolls them. “Okay fine. That doesn’t sound so terrible when you put it like that.” She hides away in the dressing room to change back into her normal clothes. “Besides, who knows? We might find something special there for you too. A little surprise for Steve when you two patch things up. He’s got that party tomorrow, right?”

Tony flushes from head to toe and leaves her there to escape to the front register without dignifying that with a response.

.

.

.

**BONUS CONTENT:**

**JUSTIN HAMMER - NEW YORK - FALL 1996**

Justin is 23 years old when he makes the mistake of sleeping with Tiberius Stone, who was, admittedly, far more obsessed with him than Justin realized. He tries to explain to the Beta man using the smallest words possible that _that night_ had been nothing but a drunken blur to him, that Tiberius had only gotten the grace of warming his bed that night because, well, he had been the closest in proximity at the time. 

Justin was never one to softball his words, his father had taught him that the true mark of a man was in how brutally honest they were. And so Justin had lived by those words, to an almost irrational degree, never caring about the impact or damage his words afflicted. Justin was transparent, and when Tiberius took to stalking him all through campus around Harvard after their dicey one night stand, he treated that time no differently.

“Listen, Ty. Can I call you, Ty?”

“You can call me anything you want.” And Christ, the guy had been absolutely serious when he said it too, all earnest, flashing his huge, gaudy veneers as they sat in some hole in a wall diner for breakfast at 7 pm in his best tux because technically he was supposed to be at the Stark Fundraising Gala over an hour ago.

Justin can feel himself becoming annoyed, as well as losing the high from the cocaine he’d snorted just an hour prior. This guy was serious killing his buzz. “Listen, Ty. I have no interest in you whatsoever. I barely remember the regretable time we had together and to be honest, I think that’s more to your favor than mine.”

Tiberius looks absolutely and thunderously offended. His face becomes the color of a tomato. “You - you are _unbelievable!_ ”

“Why, thank you,” Justin mutters, stealing the Beta man's orange juice so he can wash down the oncoming nausea that always hits him when he’s coming down from a high.

“You know, I didn’t want to believe what my family said about you and yours!” Tiberius continues to rant, leaping to his feet. “You and your whole fucking family are a joke. I guess I’ve got to be some sort of simpering Omega who gets wet at the drop of a hat when you breathe in their direction like that bitch Amanda Beck.”

Justin’s on his feet and throwing his fist just like how Vanko taught him before either of them can blink.

Tiberius goes sailing into a nearby table, upsetting the condiments and silverware. 

“Don’t you ever talk about Amanda like that!” Justin snaps as Tiberius scrambles to his feet. He would have tackled the other Alpha to the ground if Vanko hadn’t intervened by holding him back. “Do you hear me, fucker? Amanda is fifty million times your better, you asshole! Keep her fucking name out of your mouth!”

“You’re insane!” Tiberius snarls, clutching his bleeding, broken nose. “I’m gonna make you fucking pay for this! You and your whole goddamn family!”

“Good luck!” Justin yells after the fleeing Beta, struggling in Vanko’s arms.

“That is enough, I think,” Vanko remarks, grabbing him by the shoulders to shake him a little. “You look at me. Your father is yelling mad. Asking where you are. I have to lie and say we had flat tire. We must go _now_ if we wish to avoid his wrath further. What, you want me to lose my job?”

“Okay, okay. Ease off,” Justin shrugs his hands away and takes the time to straighten himself out using the reflection gleaming back at him from the huge diner windows. “Vanko, buddy, why don’t you ever talk me out of messy hook-ups like that. Christ, what was I thinking sleeping with a _Stone?_ ”

“You don’t think,” Vanko grumbles, clapping a large hand over the back of his neck to drag his ass to the limo. “You are like blind-deaf duck when you drink. Nothing anyone can say when you put your mind on something. Not even loyal, faithful, _best_ bodyguard.”

“Aw, sugar lump! You know I value your advice. I just don’t always follow it.” Justin gives him a shit-eating grin and the other Alpha just rolls his eyes and shoves him into the car.

“Never! You never follow!” Vanko rants after he slams the door shut roughly, making the whole limo quake. God, his long-time friend had quite the set of muscles on him.

Justin would hate to be on the other end of the Russian’s fist.

“Your father knows about Amanda,” Vanko warns, taking off and driving like a speed demon.

Justin uses every swear word he knows and crawls over to the mini-bar to make use of the sample size bottles. He drinks his weight in liquid courage and despite yet another solid piece of advice from Vanko, he shows up to the gala slightly tipsy. If he stumbles here and there, it’s just coincidence.

He doesn’t remember much of what happens after that. He schmoozes and rubs elbows with fellow socialites, snobs, and the top percent. He throws charm and cracks only the wittiest jokes. All the while avoiding his father, who tries to corner him several times with his patented ‘ _I’m about to lecture and berate the shit out of you_ ’ glare of doom.

So Justin works the room because his father would never confront him amongst his peers.

And when he sees that fucking war mongering Howard Stark bragging about his two-year-old kid, drawing attention on the tiny Omega to such an obnoxious degree that he’s nearly choking back tears, he takes a stab at the older Alpha’s pride. He mentions, or rather, exaggerates how much better his father was doing in the market and watches Howard flounder with his outrage while those around them titter and try to hide their gleeful snickering.

Sharks, all of them - ready to turn on anyone that drops blood in the water.

Whatever, it gets that cute little Omega to look up at him with such adorable, big eyes as if he were Superman or something, so it’s kinda worth what happens next.

Which is his father dragging him off, and shoving him into a nearby conference room.

Isaac looks so livid that steam was practically coming out of his ears. “ _Is it true, Ya'akov?_ ” he begins to shout in Hebrew, only because they were far enough from the main ballroom. “ _These shameful rumors I have heard that you have gotten an Omega, not of the faith, with child? That you plan on 'running away' with this girl?_ ”

Justin swallows dryly, tugging at the collar of his tux nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies in English.

“ _Do you not?_ ” Isaac bellows in Hebrew. His expression is thunderous. “ _I would have dismissed it had I not talked to the girl myself. Adonai save me from the foolishness of my son! Am I King David, forced to endure the curse of Absalom from my own seed? What could you have been thinking, Ya'akov?_ ”

“My name is Justin,” Justin merely replies flatly.

“ _I will not call you by some wretched Anglo-Saxon name!_ ” Isaac snaps, enraged. 

Justin says, “It’s actually Latin. Not Anglo-Saxon. How embarrassed are you, huh?”

Isaac slaps him with an open fist, hard enough to cause blood to pool in the younger Alpha’s mouth. “ _You are my greatest shame,_ ” he says coldly. He straightens his own tux and turns to leave. “You’ll never see that girl again, or your bastard,” he continues in English. “I made sure of it.”

Justin clenches his sore jaw and waits until his father is gone before he turns his head to spit blood onto the floor. He can’t stand the physical abuse but the verbal is always worse. All his life he had received cutting remarks from a sire who solely relied on the glorification of physical prowess and success. 

Isaac became everything he hated about Alphas - the older man was such a perfectionist. It’s what drives Justin to drink and do drugs. The constant pressure to live up to his old man’s standards is more than he can bear. 

It was clear that Isaac only tolerated him because of the family namesake and the public image he had to uphold.

“Fuck him,” Justin mumbles, prodding carefully at his busted lip with a wince. He growls in anger and kicks a nearby chair as he thinks with anguish that he'd never see Amanda's sweet smile again. He knows how his father likes to make people disappear. He shudders in revulsion and kicks the chair again. Sudden, sharp pain blooms in his foot and he ends up cradling it, leaping around like an idiot while he chants, “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes.”

There’s a quiet giggle that echoes in the room.

Justin blinks though his pain and sets his sights on a tiny figure standing halfway through the doorway. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi,” the toddler says back shyly, looking cute as a button in his royal blue tux. “You okay, mister?”

“I’m fine,” Justin promises and gestures for him to come closer, suddenly wishing he had some candy on him. “What’s your name, little star?”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” Anthony recites proudly as he stops before him. “What’s yours?”

“Justin Hammer,” Justin replies with a playful wink. “But a smarty pants like you can call me Justin.”

Anthony grins in amusement. “I can’t do that, Mr. Hammer. My father says kids aren’t - aren’t supposed to call adults by their first names.”

“No offense, but your sire is a moron,” Justin complains and grins when it gets the tiny Omega to burst into these incredulous giggles. “Speaking of, won’t he be missing you?”

Anthony calms down after a while and looks a little sheepish as he fidgets from foot to foot. “I wanted to - to thank you for - for … _you know_.”

“Do I?” Justin teases, dropping to a knee so they can be eye-level. “Yeah, I suppose I do. Seemed an awful shame to see you so teary-eyed when you’re looking so dapper in that tux. Your hair's even slicked back all nicely. You do that yourself?”

Anthony preens and clutches at the lapels of his tux proudly. “No, that’s cause of Jarvis. He’s really good at doing my hair and getting me dressed,” he boasts. “My mother has this schedule for what I’m supposed to wear but Jarvis lets me pick whatever I want to on the weekends!”

“Oh yeah? Jarvis sounds super cool,” Justin agrees with an indulgent and fond smile. God, this kid was the cutest toddler on the planet. He usually doesn’t like kids, but he finds himself making an exception for this one.

“Yeah, Jarvis is the best!” Anthony exclaims excitedly before he sobers. He wrings his hands nervously as he says, “Sorry about - sorry that you got in trouble with your Alpha because of me.”

Justin is taken aback by that. “Not your fault, little star. You and I won the unluckiest lottery in the world with our sires. We’ve got to stick together against the oppressive Alpha patriarchy."

Anthony gives him a bemused smile. “You say such weird things, Mr. Hammer.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Justin agrees with a shrug. “Come on. Let’s get you back to that dreadful party. Did you really build that circuit board from scratch and program your toaster to fly?”

Anthony goes cherry red but he babbles happily about how he was able to do it. He talks with his hands, his big brown eyes crinkle with excited warmth. He's an adorable ball of enthusiasm.

“There you are, Master Anthony!” a striking Omega with tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous, exclaims in exasperation. He had a face that was strong and defined, dark eyebrows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. He looked like an older version of Anthony, actually. “Your father and mother are quite upset by your disappearance. Let’s get you back to them.”

“Sorry, Jarvis,” Anthony replies softly with sad cow eyes. “I just wanted to show my - my denunciation to Mr. Hammer!”

“Oh my god,” Justin mutters, clutching his fragile heart because the tiny Omega is wearing the expression of a drowned kitten. It kind of makes Justin want to throw anything he can at it to make it go away.

“It’s _appreciation,_ ” Jarvis gently corrects with an expression packed with warmth and affection. He lifts Anthony to set him on his hip and turns to Justin. “Thank you for looking after Master Anthony, Mr. Hammer. You have my utmost gratitude.”

“Oh, he was looking after me more than I was for him,” Justin says, waving him off. “You stay awesome, little star. Remember, unlucky genetic lottery winners like us gotta stick together.”

Anthony nods with a shy smile, waving over Jarvis’s shoulder while the older Omega carries him away.

Justin skips out on the rest of the gala, too heartbroken to fake being Isaac's perfect Alpha son.

He ends up at some nightclub later that night to drink his sorrows away, but he never quite is able to shake the lasting impression Anthony Stark made that night. He ends up following Anthony’s academic career closely and hoping he doesn’t turn out anything like Howard.

He doesn’t. Not by a long shot.


	34. YEAR 1: PART II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - i updated the tags so ya'll might want to look at that before diving in 
> 
> also i missed you guys and i hope you had a good couple of weeks cause i know i have :) thanks for asking lol 
> 
> but yeah - enjoy and hmu with some feedback

**agent-13:** hi uncle steve   
**agent-13:** i hope you are well   
**agent-13:** i miss u   
**agent-13:** can you come over tomorrow?

.

.

.

There are different levels and degrees to Tony’s anger. Even in this, Steve finds the Omega breathtakingly beautiful, even when he, himself, is the source of that ire.

There’s something almost explosive and thunderous cracklingly dangerously from Tony’s side of the bond - a colorful hurricane with a powerful eye. At the moment, Steve seems to be at the bottom dead center of it all.

Steve is upset himself, not at Tony, god it’s so hard to be mad at him, but he’s upset at the situation in general. He’s annoyed at the argument that shouldn’t have been an argument. But most of all, he’s anxious - wondering over how he should make things right between them.

He types out the text:  **sorry i was wrong** and deletes it.

Then he tries again:  **i dont want you to think this job means more than you do** and then he deletes that too.

He makes a frustrated sound before he shoves his phone in his pocket to thump his forehead against the front door over and over again.

Steve stands outside on his Ma’s porch, hand hovering over the knob of the front door, hesitating. He should stay. Tony clearly needs him and he needs Tony. Letting go of Peter had been hard for him as well. A knot of worry settled in his stomach as he watched the tiny Omega get swallowed up in that bioluminescent rainbow light, propelling him to a new future - a _changed_ future - in more ways than one.

Steve sighs and scrubs at his face tiredly with both hands before he fishes the earpiece Peter made him (similar to the one he designed for Tony) out of his pocket, positioning it in his ear before he taps it twice (just like Peter showed him). “FRIDAY?”

“ _Steve,_ ” FRIDAY greets back, somewhat subdued. “ _How can I be of service?_ ”

“Is Tony - how is he?” Steve asks.

“ _Boss is texting Dr. Skirth. The tone is … not good_ ,” FRIDAY confirms with an apologetic inflection.

Steve huffs wryly, understanding she’s saying, without words, that it’s about him without actually verbalizing it. Which is fine because Steve doesn’t need to know. He respects Tony’s privacy. He won’t press for more than that. “You wouldn’t happen to have any advice for me about how to patch things up with him, would you?”

FRIDAY is thoughtfully silent before she responds, “ _I am not learned in this sort of conflict, but recent studies show that time apart and perspective is often beneficial to resolving differences._ ”

“Time and space, huh?” Steve considers it with a sigh. “Let’s see. Thank you.”

“ _Of course, Steve. Did you have any other questions or concerns?_ ”

“Not at the moment. Thanks again.” Steve's earpiece goes quiet. With another sigh, he begins the trek to the local bus stop. He can afford a cab or a rideshare, but there’s something about taking the long way that helps him decompress. 

However, today, Steve’s at the bus stop for no more than five minutes before a gleaming black stretch limo pulls up curbside.

The window lowers in the back and Hammer’s head pokes out. “Hey, stranger,” he says with a grin. “Need a lift to work?”

Steve toys with the idea of saying no but he’s aware that the older Alpha wouldn’t take that for an answer so he says, “I’m open to it.”

Hammer ducks back into the limo and pushes the door open before sliding over to make room for Steve as he climbs in. The older Alpha isn’t alone like he assumes.

Near the other end of the limo sits a handsome Alpha wearing the Air Force dress uniform with a nameplate reads ‘Rhodes’.

“I appreciate this,” Steve begins, giving a nod of acknowledgment to Rhodes before he turns to Hammer. “But I’ve gotta ask how you knew where I was headed.”

“Your mom and I text sometimes,” Hammer says with a brazen grin that Steve does not care for at all. “Steve, I want you to meet my sobriety coach, the love of my life, my brother from another mother, Colonel James Rhodes of the Air Force. I call him Sugarbear but you can call him Rhodey. Or James. Sugarbear, meet my future son-in-law, Steve Rogers.”

Rhodey ignores the theatrics of his long-time friend, taking a moment to shake Steve’s hand before returning to his side of the limo. “It’s nice to meet you,” he promises. “To be honest, when Justin said he’s finally made me a proud uncle, I thought he’d fallen off the wagon again.”

Steve laughs a little. “It’s true,” he swears. Then he glances at Hammer, “Though, I’m not sure why you didn’t just introduce him to Tony?”

“In all due time,” Hammer remarks with great cheer. “No, this little trip is all about you. I couldn’t help but notice that the ring on Junior’s finger. Any happy news you want to tell me about, Steve?”

Steve flushes, knowing exactly what the older Alpha is referencing. “Well, ah.” He clears his throat and straightens his posture. “I was actually going to bring that up with you.”

“Yes?” Hammer’s eyes glimmer with mirth. “I’m all ears.”

“Sir -”

“You hear that? He called me sir!” Hammer exclaims to Rhodey, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He turns back to Steve. “Sorry." He steeples his hands in front of his mouth, all business-like, as he says, “Go on. Tell me why you think you deserve him.”

Steve huffs, quickly mulling over the speech he’d been planning in his head for days since he had asked Tony to marry him. He says, “If I’m being honest, sir - I don’t deserve him. I don’t think that anyone on this planet does. But he chose me, regardless, and if I’m who he wants to spend the rest of his life with, then I think it’s only fair that I give that to him. Because I - I love him with everything I have in me. And I want to do everything with him. I want to marry him and have kids with him and grow old with him.”

Hammer and Rhodey seem to be hanging on his every word so he takes that as a positive sign.

Steve continues, because he’s not done, “I love Tony with no beginning, no end. He’s - he has become an extra necessary organ in my body. I love him without fear. Without expectations. Wanting nothing in return. But I won’t lie to you, sir. We fight and we have our differences and we have our falling outs. And I also understand that we're going to have our bad days or even our bad seasons. I know that, and I think Tony does too. But I’m willing to work at it, to toil through them if he is, and I think he is. I’ll do whatever I can to keep him safe, happy, whole. Because I - I think he’s worth it. I think we’re worth it.”

There’s a grave silence that fills the car when Steve pauses to catch his breath.

“Damn, Justin,” Rhodey says with a wobbly voice. “You better let this man marry your kid.”

Hammer laughs wetly and discreetly dries his eyes. “Yeah,” he agrees. Then he clears his throat. “I think you’re more than I could hope for Anthony to have and I always want him to have the best. Though, I was always going to give you my blessing, Steve.”

Steve feels something uncoil inside of him in relief and he allows himself to relax.

“But,” Hammer quickly adds when he notices, a sort of twinkle in his eyes. “I have a few conditions.”

Steve frowns curiously but he nods, urging the older Alpha to continue.

“Did you know that fruits on the southern side of a tree often ripen sooner than those that get less sun? Yet the ones that see less sunlight are often the sweetest,” Hammer remarks instead of getting right to the point. He lets that statement sink in before he continues, “My Anthony is a good apple that sprung from the worst tree of them all, if you get my drift. And, despite that, he's still tender and kind. He's still good. That's not always the case. But being among bad fruit can get to you still. I should know. My sire was a nightmare to me, as Anthony's was to him. You don’t just walk away from trauma like that without it making it’s mark somewhere deep inside of you. I want what you want - for him to be happy, safe, whole. But I’m telling you now, sometimes you’re not going to be enough and that’s okay. Sometimes it's impossible to figure out how to be happy, safe, and whole on your own. I had to learn that for myself, but do you know how I did?”

Steve shakes his head, listening intently.

“Therapy,” Hammer clarifies. “Years and years of therapy, which helped me to undo all the hurt and harm my past traumas put me through. Helped me to forgive myself and ask others for forgiveness. Helped me sober up. Helped me to find the best version of myself. And so, I ask that if you marry Anthony, you make a promise that the two of you will attend therapy, both together and apart. Because a relationship isn't always fifty-fifty, Steve. Somedays, one of you will struggle, and you know what happens then? It becomes eighty-twenty because they need you. That's what love is. That's what love is supposed to do. But you have to understand that you’ll need perspective over who you are and how you’ve come to be that way. You’re also going to be under the public eye, and the strain of that can carry over into your personal lives, believe me. I think therapy is going to be the best shot at helping you two last. What do you think?”

Steve swallows dryly, a bit amazed at the wisdom in the eccentric billionaire’s advice. He really takes a moment to think it over before he nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re right.”

“Then I’m behind this union. One hundred million percent,” Hammer promises with a smile. He claps his hands together. “Now that we’ve got that settled. Why don’t I treat you to the best cheese and egg croissant money can buy, exclusively from  _the_ Dunkin Donuts?”

Steve laughs until he realizes Hammer is completely serious. “Okay,” he huffs in exasperation, shaking his head. “Yeah, why not? So long as we don’t go to the one on Eighty-fourth and Grand.”

“What am I? Brain dead? Of course not from that hellscape,” Hammer passionately agrees. “Even when I used to be completely plastered, I still would never step foot in there. Not after the time I found an acrylic nail in my bag of chocolate munchkins.”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, nodding fondly. “Carolina did always love her acrylic nails. You know she just had a third kid?”

“Oh get outta here! She let Andrew knock her up again?”

“No, but that’s the best part. It’s Donny’s.”

“Shut up.”

“Swear on everything. They finally stop being idiots and dancing around each other. They’re married now, and he’s adopted her other ones.”

Hammer looks flabbergasted while he says, “I love happy endings. I _love_ happy endings. Oh god, you know - that just really restores my faith in true love. I mean, if _Donny_ got his, who’s to say me and Ms. Everhart may never?”

“In your dreams,” Ms. Everhart says from the passenger seat of the limo as Vanko snorts beside her while he merges onto the freeway.

“Aw, but kitten! You knows ours is an undying and eternal -”

Ms. Everhart raises the partition, blocking him out.

Hammer chuckles, far from offended, looking even more smitten if anything. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s my future wife and Anthony's future stepmom,” he swears, cupping a hand over his heart.

Rhodey snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah? Guess we’re ignoring the fact that you’ve been barking up that tree for as long as I’ve known you. That’s over fifteen years of being shot down,” he generously points out.

“Oof, yikes,” Hammer exaggerates, knocking the back of his hand against Steve’s shoulder. “Better watch out, Steve. Mr. Romantic over there has never seen _Titanic_ and so he’s never been exposed to true love.”

“You are an absolute child,” Rhodey remarks, shaking his head with admonishment. “Come on - we’ve been over this. Just because I didn’t like it does not mean I went temporarily blind for nearly three hours. You just don’t want to face the truth, which is that _Titanic_ is nothing but an overrated James Cameron movie.”

“Erroneous! Erroneous! _Erroneous_ on both counts.You and I didn’t watch the same movie because you wouldn’t spout such slutty lies, Sugarbear! That movie is nearly perfect with no flaws except for the end! Kate Winslet should have made some room on that goddamn door and we all know it!”

The argument only escalates from there to the highest degrees of absurdity and all Steve can do is watch the verbal tennis mouth with baffled amusement, snickering off and on. 

There’s a lot of love and affection in their bickering - their friendship is a light that shines through their eyes and their smiles. 

It reminds Steve of what he has with Bucky and Sam. He couldn’t ever see a moment in his past or his future without them being there.

“We are here,” Vanko interjects as he makes the sharp turn into the Dunkin Donuts’ parking lot. 

It’s the location nearest to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“Great.” Hammer slaps on a pair of designer shades as he snaps his fingers to gain everyone’s attention. “I already know what food we’re eating, but I’m also taking coffee orders. What do we want?”

Steve opts for some tea instead since him and caffeine don’t mix. He watches the older Alpha recite all the orders back to everyone until he’s satisfied he’s not going to botch it.

“Be back in two shakes,” Hammer croons, signaling for Vanko to follow.

Steve watches through the dark-tinted windows as the two older Alphas make their way to the building.

Well, more like Hammer swaggers, gaining a lot of attention from people who recognize him instantly with murmured excitement, pulling out their phones to record the eccentric billionaire as he waltzes through the revolving doors.

Meanwhile, Vanko stalks behind him as a frowny, sulking figure that looks very sternly at anyone who tries to get brave about approaching the famous Alpha. Vanko ends up rolling his eyes when Hammer waves his overprotectiveness off to take a few pics with some of his fans.

Rhodey huffs as he slides closer to the side of the limo facing the gathering crowds, who are all trying to get their shot at either taking pictures with Hammer or at least from a distance. “You ready for all that?” he asks, gesturing to the commotion.

Steve blinks and then realizes that, yeah, because of his relationship to Tony and Hammer, he’s probably going to be in the spotlight more than what he’s used to. It makes him anxious. “You ever get used to?” he asks, curious.

Rhodey smiles wryly. “I have both my good days and my bad days, but that’s life in general. It’s really not that bad if you don’t obsess over it, or google yourself. And I’m sure Justin is going to do everything he can to keep you as covered as possible. His PR team is said to be staffed with the best. We’re talking on a global scale.”

Steve nods while the corners of his mouth dip into an impressed shrug. That does reassure him to know of. He asks, “So, how long have you known Mr. Hammer?”

“Call him Justin, he’s going to insist,” Rhodey forewarns with transparent amusement while Steve huffs. Then he goes on to say, “Uh. Well. Let’s see. Now, I know I look young but I’m actually a few years older than him. We’ve known each other since our college days.”

“Where at?”

“MIT,” Rhodey clarifies. “He had just transferred in from Harvard. Something to do with bad memories, a love lost, and a stalker. I won’t go into too much detail out of respect for his privacy. But yeah, we were both attending. Now, mind you, we weren’t always friends. I didn’t bother with that fool until the night I found him ass naked in one of the campus water fountains, stoned and drunk out of his mind, nearly drowning in just three inches of water.”

“Wow,” Steve mumbles, picturing it. “He does have a bit of a wildcard vibe.”

“A bit?” Ms. Everhart snorts from the front, reminding Steve that she’s very much present. “Bless your heart,” she adds as she tosses him a wink.

Steve laughs. “You’d both know better than me, ma’am,” he replies.

“Give it time,” Ms. Everhart says with a grin as she goes back to texting and conducting business on her smartphone.

“Right,” Rhodey goes back to saying. “So, where was I?” He continues, “So there he is, naked as the day he’s born, face down, ass up. I dragged him out, and shook him to make sure he was lucid enough to be taken to the hospital. Visited as much as I could to be sure he wasn’t doing anything else dumb until the doctors cleared him for release. Gave him a good talking to after that cause it hit a nerve for me. My dad died strung out and I - I couldn’t do _nothing,_ you know? Even if I wasn’t Justin’s biggest fan at the time, and I can’t stress enough that I wasn’t.”

Steve gives an encouraging nod of understanding. 

“But life has a funny way of bringing you together with people you assume is just gonna be like smoke or vapor in your life: there one minute and blown away the next. He proves me wrong each time, that’s what I love about that fool,” Rhodey remarks with a small grin that shows the depth of his exasperated affection. “Even when he fucks up, he’s trying to be the best version of himself. But above it all, he craves a family to call his own. I’m glad he’s finding more of that.”

“Yeah, I like him,” Steve says with honest smile. 

“He’s come a long way,” Rhodey concedes. “Mental health was such a stigma back when we were growing up, but his recovery helped both of us to understand that therapy can heal. Hell, he’s the reason I see a shrink myself. He donates to that cause and speaks on it when he can to give others hope. If you had ask me back in the day if I thought Justin was ready to be anyone’s sire, I would’ve laughed and told them to run for the hills.”

“And now?” Steve probes, even though he’s pretty confident about what the answer will be.

“Now, I’d say you and Tony are gonna be at the other end of a wonderfully selfless, endlessly supportive, and enormously protective Alpha,” Rhodey confirms. “And in saying that, I’m very invested in meeting my would-be nephew since Justin has nothing but flatteringly _boastful_ things to say about your fiancé. Seriously. Did you know the background of his phone is him and Tony standing under a banner that says ‘it’s a boy’? Ridiculous sap.”

Steve laughs warm-heartedly at that. “Yeah, Tony has a way of bringing that out in a person.”

“Can’t wait to be the next victim,” Rhodey declares with mock seriousness that makes them both smile.

“Oh, he is such a darling, James,” Ms. Everhart interjects with a warm sigh. “If Justin hadn’t adopted him, I surely would’ve.”

“What, a big meanie like you who always complains that kids make your skin crawl?” Rhodey gasps dramatically.

Steve laughs when Ms. Everhart gives Rhodey the finger without turning around or pausing her texting with one hand. 

Rhodey adds, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Tony has to be something amazing because it took her about three years before she warmed up to me. Vanko was only a year. Shortest on record. Justin’s still trying to get in her good graces, and he's known her the longest.”

Steve’s snickering while Ms. Everhart comments, “Correction: shortest on record is Tony. Ten minutes in his presence and I knew that if anything ever happened to that sweet boy, I would nuke the entire planet and become a bitter Space Viking set on galaxy-wide domination.”

Steve whistles, impressed. He smiles and says, “How about me? What’s it going to take?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Ms. Everhart assures sweetly, focus still on the screen of her smartphone where her thumbs are moving wildly over it. “That speech you gave to ask for Tony’s hand did more than enough to win me over. I might actually start believing in love.”

“No way. I can’t be bitter about it on my own. We have a club,” Rhodey protests. “Of which, you and Vanko are the co-founders.”

Ms. Everhart presses the button for the divider and says, “Huh? What was that? So sorry. Getting a very important call right now. Bye.”

“Wow, how convenient,” Rhodey dryly comments, shooting Steve a look that properly conveys ‘see what I’m happily forced to put up with?’.

Steve laughs just as the door opens and Hammer comes diving in under a spray of camera flashes from a newly arrived swarm of paparazzi.

“Phew,” Hammer sighs, taking a moment to catch his bearings while Vanko fusses at the gathering crowds, climbing into the driver's side to honk his horn aggressively. “Vanko, darling, be nice.”

“I be nice when they move out of my way! What, they want me to run them over?” Vanko complains, not easing up on the horn as a mob of Hammer’s fans slap their hands against the limo windows or the roof to beg for a photo or an autograph. 

Steve has to admit that it’s pretty intense and he’s suddenly immensely grateful that Hammer insisted on a bodyguard for Tony. There’s no way he’d want his pregnant Omega to face the hordes like this all on his own.

Vanko manages to navigate the limo out of the parking lot without causing anyone injury while Hammer hands out all the orders. 

“So, Steve,” Hammer says between bites of his cheesy egg croissant sandwich and piping hot coffee. “First day of work. You excited? From what Sarah’s told me, you’ve - _yikes!_ Yikes, yikes, yikes.”

Steve nearly chokes on his tea at the familiarity of the gesture. He’s seen his Omega do the same enough times to recognize it. “Tony does that,” he remarks faintly, amazed.

Hammer, who spilled some of his coffee on his thigh and is trying to hastily clean the spillage, pauses with a curious frown. “Does what? Has random bouts of clumsiness with scalding drinks?”

“No. I mean yes, sometimes, but I meant the ‘yikes’ thing,” Steve quickly clarifies much to Rhodey’s amusement. “He says it exactly like that when he’s in pain.”

“He … does?” Hammer’s face twists up between disbelief, hope, and tenderness. He looks emotionally raw, but also like he’s short-circuiting.

“Hold on,” Rhodey says after some heavy silence. “You mean to tell me that the thing I’ve seen this guy do for as long as I’ve known him is also a shared habit of Tony’s?” When Steve nods to confirm, a little mystified himself, the older Alpha turns to Hammer to say, “And you’re positive he’s not your actual kid? You should do a DNA test because I’m calling it.”

Hammer laughs and shakes his head, finally snapping out of his daze. “Trust me, Sugarbear. I know every little soldier I’ve sent off to the trenches and unfortunately, my little star isn’t one of them. But I think I should tell ya’ll about how we first met.”

“Oh boy, you’re doing your Nashville twang so it must be good,” Rhodey remarks as he continues to eat his food and drink his frozen coffee.

Steve is very much interested in hearing about this as well and listens intently as Hammer goes on and on about the night he met Tony for the first time. He’s so enthralled by the tale that he barely noticed that the limo has reached the museum.

It is, however, hard to ignore the chanting coming from a crowd of protesters standing at the bottom of the stone steps holding up picket signs that say ‘ **MUTANT AND PROUD** ’ and/or other variations of the same statement. 

“Are they protesting the Met?” Rhodey asks as they all peer through the windows at the thick swarm of protestors.

Surprisingly, it’s Vanko who replies, “Actually, the Met is one of few spaces in New York where it’s not illegal to hold public forum or exercise Freedom of Speech without judicial backlash.”

Everyone turns to look at him, impressed.

Vanko glares at their reflections with an endearing scowl. “What? What you look at me this way for? I read. That is surprising? You think my fists too big and brain too small? What you think I do when I’m not driving or flying? Sit and stare at wall until I am needed again?”

“Well, yeah,” Hammer says with a solemn expression that cracks after Vanko balls up a napkin and throws it at him. “That was a joke, my cuddly Russian Bear. Thanks for the insight.” The older Alpha twists himself to look back out the window with a glimmer of interest. “I’m nearly offended I didn’t know about this myself. Maybe I should go and rub elbows. Get the tea, as the kids say.”

Rhodey snorts but Ms. Everhart shoots him a scathing look as she urges, “You will do no such thing. Not before the launch of going public with our rideshare program. It’s too hot of an issue. Take sides _after_ we’ve made nice with new investors. Plus, Elektra will _murder_ you if you do anything without her explicit permission. Isn’t that why you hired her to be the Department Lead for your PR and legal team?”

“She’s a ruthless shark, and I love that about her because she’s really turned around my public image and has made me the Darling of America,” Hammer agrees with a cheery grin. “And it’s because I’m confident of her skills, I think it won’t hurt to throw my lot in. Besides, Murdock and Nelson have been pushing me to give a vested interest in the top ten most critical problems in the world according to millennials and gen z. That out there pretty much covers the top three, right? Large scale conflict, wars, and inequality. I wanna get woke, Christine. Why are you stunting my growth?”

“ _Justin_ , I swear to _god_ ,” Ms. Everhart warns as the air seems to crackle between them. “I will come back there and _sit_ on you if I have to.”

“Promises, promises,” Hammer mutters before he gives a dramatic pout and looks put out. He turns to Steve, who has been watching the proceedings with amused interest, and he says, “Well, I won’t keep you. Let’s arrange a dinner. Christine, can you make a family calendar for the three of us to sync our schedules together? Loop in Sarah Rogers as well. That should bypass most of the confusion.” He turns back to Steve. “What do you think?”

“Fine by me,” Steve says before exchanging all his contact information with the Older Alpha, who merely makes a copy to forward to Ms. Everhart. “And thank you, sir. For giving me this opportunity to be a part of your family.”

Hammer smiles. “Don’t thank me, Apple Pie,” he replies, ignoring the exasperated scoff Steve gives at the familiar nickname. “All of this is because Tony chose us to look after him, to do better than the Starks had. He needs the love and support he never got from those dipshits, so let’s not waste the chance we’ve been given to rectify that.” He taps the side of his nose with a wink.

Steve nods with a grin before he gives his goodbyes to Rhodey, Vanko, and Ms. Everhart. He doesn’t realize that the limo had been soundproof until he steps out onto the sidewalk and gets instantly bombarded with the sound of voices shouting in tandem.

There’s a teenaged Omega standing on a tall soapbox, elevated in the midst of the crowd with a megaphone. She’s wearing black lipstick and a lock of her hair is grey. She’s yelling, “Does a flower get to decide whether it can become a lily or a rose?”

“No!” the crowd shouts.

“And does a baby at birth get to choose its own name?”

“No!” the crowd shouts.

“That’s right! So why must the government demand of us to register ourselves for the gifts we have been given? We are not responsible for what we have come to be as Mutants! Only once the rest of the world realizes this do we, my brothers and sisters, become free! Once hate and fear is no longer connected to us, we can have the security of living without the threat of violence and rejection! We will not let the government pass laws that would give educators the right to expel Mutants, or employers to fire us, or landlords to evict us, or even give doctors the power to deny us basic healthcare rights!”

The crowd cheers in agreement before chanting, “Rogue! Rogue! Rogue!”

Rogue responds, holding up a righteous fist, “Mutant and Proud!”

That’s the most Steve lets himself observe before he’s quickly making his way up the stone steps and into the museum. He’s never seen anything like that before. Not to say that he isn’t aware of the rising population of people who have started to out themselves as Mutants in recent years. He’s skimmed articles that Sharon has forwarded him about the controversial issue: debates on how long Mutants have been around, the ridiculous theories anti-vaxxers have made between mutations and vaccinations, and rumors that the government was gearing up to make Mutant Registry mandatory.

Sharon is very outspoken about it all, so much so that Peggy has told him that it’s gotten Sharon into quite a bit of trouble at school. Though neither Steve nor Peggy blame her for that since the young Beta only responds when provoked or antagonized (meaning she’ll overhear a staff saying something ignorant and verbally check them for it). Peggy’s had to transfer Sharon to a few schools because of that reason alone.

Steve suspects, though he’s never said, that Sharon is under the impression she may be a Mutant herself but Peggy won’t hear anything about it when Sharon tries to broach the subject or ask about who her sire was. Steve knows that it’s not because Peggy is a bigot, but because she’s afraid of what that might mean for Sharon if it were ever confirmed. But Peggy can only protect her for so long and Sharon’s going to grow into an age where she’ll be making her own decisions about who she is and where that takes her.

Either way, Steve will always be there for her, to support her through any conflict she may face. For now, he pushes that to the back of his mind as he reaches the administration office and checks in with the receptionist. He’s told to go ahead into the back office to meet with the Curator.

When Steve arrives, the door is already open but there’s a portly Beta woman drowning in makeup, jewelry, and perfume with a lopsided wig that was too youthly for such an old face, occupying the space. The sneering old lady is fussing at a tall, blonde and short-haired Alpha woman, who looks to be around the same age as his Ma. She’s outfitted in a sleek, dark brown vintage pantsuit with boxy shoulder pads infamous of the 90’s decade. She’s listening to the old woman’s grievances with a blank face.

“It’s a goddamn circus out there!” the Beta woman rants. “My husband and I are not funding a freak show! You do something about this, and you do it now, or I’ll be pulling my endorsements!”

“Mrs. Albright, who am I to say what you should do with your money? As I have mentioned countless times, they are not breaking any known laws,” the tall Alpha woman says firmly. “And it’s not hurting our numbers either. Summer is always the busiest season here, I assure you. They aren’t looking for trouble. They just want to be heard.”

“Filthy creatures,” Mrs. Albright snaps, practically frothing at the mouth. “Oh sure, it starts with the marching and the - the signs and speeches. Then boom! Next thing you know, the whole world is gonna be enslaved. Everything you believe in will lie in ashes and all us decent folk are gonna die. All it takes is a single death in Washington DC, after that it’s just the fall of democracy. They don’t want protection, they want revenge. And I will not be party to your naivety! You either do something about what’s happening out there or I will pull my funding.”

“As I’ve said, they aren’t breaking any known laws, and no action is needed to discourage them at this time. If you feel your money is best served elsewhere, let’s say, donating to the NRA or very bad plastic surgery, that’s your prerogative.”

Mrs. Albright turns purple with anger at the pointed insult. She stomps her foot before muttering angrily under her breath as she exits the office in a huff, nearly bowling Steve over in her haste.

“I’m sorry about that,” the tall Alpha woman says with a wry smile. “Mrs. Albright likes to assume that anything can be bought. Even people’s opinions when it doesn’t match her own.” She makes her way over to offer a hand. “Anyway, my name is Carol Danvers. I’ve been the Met’s Curator for about eight years now. You must be Steve Rogers. Nick told me I should expect you.”

“Thought she didn’t like being called Nick,” Steve replies, shaking the hand offered with a friendly smile.

Carol laughs and says, “She doesn’t, but since we’ve known each other since our days back in the Marines, she lets me get away with it.”

Steve finds that interesting. There’s not much he knows about Fury but he’s curious. “Did you - are you with SHIELD?” he asks.

Carol gives him a secret smile. “I’m a liaison when there are big, scary emergencies that need my attention. I'm technically retired, but I offer whatever help I can when Nick comes asking for it. When she mentioned you needed a cover that fits well with your education and background, well, I did really need an Art Restoration Specialist. This kind of works out for the both of us. Come on, let me show you to your office, and then I’ll give you a tour of the museum and discuss my expectations of you. When we’ve got that and your HR paperwork squared away, I’ll take you down to the Black Site or Central Comm Ops Base. That's actually deep underground from where the Met stands.”

Steve nods, impressed and follows the older Alpha so they can exit her office together.

.

.

.

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** aw chipmunk i miss you too   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** of course what time do you want me?

 **agent-13:** 2pm tomorrow  
 **agent-13:** wear something nice

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** oh boy what are you up to?

 **agent-13:** no questions please  
 **agent-13:** bring uncle tony too

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** hmm  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** ok you got it little soldier :)

.

.

.

True to Carol’s word, she gives him the grand tour, taking the time between explaining the layouts and the exhibits to address her different employees with warmth. She also introduces Steve to the security guards, the cleaning staff, and the interns. 

Everyone is so endearingly nice and welcoming, so much more than all his previous jobs (including the Rec Center).

Steve’s actually glad to have this job as his cover. It pays amazingly well too, with more benefits than he knows what to do with (unlimited PTO, paid holidays, weekends off, the ability to set his own hours or work from home, and much more). Which is good, because according to Carol, payment for his undercover work goes directly towards his pension, not to be touched until retirement. His cover job is what’s supposed to cover any of his living expenses in the meantime.

Carol then gives him a tour of the Rehab Room where they are keeping all depleted artwork that needs critical touch-ups. She also shows him to the Nursery, as well as the walk-in supply closet holding rows and rows of every artistic tool known to man. The Nursery is apparently his secondary office, which is where Steve is supposed to work at least two days out of the week when he wasn’t being utilized by Fury down at Avengers HQ.

From there, it’s straight to the main administration office where the receptionist, a flowery smelling, strawberry-blonde Omega Carol introduces by the name of Karen Page, who Steve briefly met when he first arrived, waits. She’s very sweet, blushes prettily a lot under his attention, and talks really softly while she walks him through his paperwork. But she’s also brutally honest, which she proves when she makes a suggestion that he retake his picture for his work badge after she snaps the photo and studies it with a wrinkled nose.

Steve isn’t given a blessing over his work badge until the sixth photo, much to Carol’s amusement but Steve has to admit it _is_ a good photo.

Karen confesses that she minored in Photography during college with a major in Social Media, which relates to the fact that she manages all of the Met’s social media accounts. She warns him that he’s going to end up in there frequently, if not tagged in connection to any of his restoration projects that help get a piece of art back out onto the floor again for the general public.

Steve assures her that he doesn’t mind that so much after she promises to run anything she’s going to post by him first before she does so, emphasizing that his consent is important to her.

With all that sorted, Carol finally walks him down to the Watch Tower, where all of the Met’s security footage is streamlined into a room with six security guards who constantly monitors the walls filled with surveillance screens. Beyond this room is the security break room and cafeteria where there are some deep freezers holding a single door that opens to a lone elevator.

Carol scans her work badge which acts as the call button and the doors open to them. “After you,” she encourages, sweeping a hand towards the inside of the car. She climbs on after Steve and wanders over to a small biometric scanner, pressing her palm to it as a beam of light flashes up and down her hand. “This is Carol Danvers, aka Marvel, requesting permission to go below with one invited guest.”

A robotic voice with the Xhosa accent replies, “ _Permission granted._ ”

The elevator begins its smooth descent into the bowels. This goes on for fifteen minutes.

Nearing the thirty-minute mark, FRIDAY’s voice chimes from his phone in his back pocket, saying “ _Steve, your mobile device has lost signal and is quickly becoming untraceable. I’m unable to connect with my mainframe. Are you in trouble?_ ”

Steve quickly takes out his phone and answers, “Oh, don’t worry, FRIDAY. I’m in no danger. We’re headed down to a remote location. Please don’t tell Tony about what I’m really doing when I’m at the museum.”

A judgemental silence follows his request before FRIDAY primly replies, “ _Very well, Steve. As Boss has granted you complete access to all my features, I will maintain that command until it is lifted solely by you. If you need anything else, I’ll be here._ ” Then she’s folding into herself and into the quiet.

Carol makes an impressed yet humored sound. “I don’t think she approves of your double life,” she remarks.

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve huffs wryly. After a few beats of silence, he asks, “Was it hard for you?”

Carol looks up from her phone to pin him with a curious look.

“Keeping what you do a secret,” Steve clarifies.

“What I do is keep the cultural heritage of the Met intact,” Carol corrects but not unkindly. She puts away her phone, takes off her blazer and rolls up her sleeves to the elbow. “But, back when I was still serving, in between the times I did side work for SHIELD, yes. It was hard. There are many disadvantages you’ll come to know intimately. The sheer effort it takes to keep the secret going can often alienate you from your loved ones. Every cause has more than one effect.” 

“But that’s the price, isn't it?” Steve says as he thinks about it. “To keep the world safe. To do what we can to protect the ones we love.”

“Yes,” Carol agrees simply. “Try to remember that when the debt is due and the price has been paid. You might not like the endgame when it comes.”

The elevator finally comes to a pause, after nearly an hour, and the doors open to a huge chamber, the walls - half-naked rock, half polished steel - are lined with computer equipment, electronic meters, and machines that blinked and flickered with a life of their own.

Arc lights beam down from above.

It was staffed heavily by Betas and Alphas, some in white coats, others in black uniform, all constantly moving like bees traveling across a flowerbed of tech, weapons, and the like.

Armed guards stood at each doorway, watching them work with blank faces but sharp, hawkish gazes.

Carol leads him up to the elevated glass box office with a view to oversee all that’s happening out on the main floor.

Steve isn’t surprised to see Coulson and Romanov, but it does catch him off guard to see that it’s Fury sitting behind the desk.

It all falls into place when Carol says, “Director Fury, he’s all set on my end. I’ll leave him in your capable hands, but I want him Monday and Friday of next week. I’ll forward a copy of his work schedule. Please do the same.”

The corner of Fury’s mouth curls with indulgent amusement before she gives a simple nod. 

Carol wishes Steve the best of luck before dismissing herself to travel back up to the museum. 

Fury stands and then gestures for Steve to take the empty seat on the opposite side of her sleek chrome desk while Coulson and Romanov stand on either side of her.

Steve sits down and waits.

“You’re surprised that I’m in charge,” Fury remarks as she sits as well, crossing one leg over the other as she gazes at him evenly with one brown eye.

“Surprised? No,” Steve replies. “I’m just wondering why it wasn’t obvious to me sooner that you’re running the show.”

Fury gives him one of her shark-like grins before she says, “Romanov thinks it’s a mistake bringing you on.”

“Oh?” Steve glances at the red-haired Omega who meets his gaze defiantly. “Why is that?”

“You’re too much of a civilian,” Romanov readily clarifies with that smoky voice of hers. “Despite your impressive scores on the Army’s aptitude tests, we all know that the military doesn’t quite work the same way as Intelligence.”

“You think I’m sheep,” Steve reasons, getting to the heart of what she’s trying to imply. “Just another soldier ready to follow any and every order.”

“Is there more to you?” Romanov retorts with a single eyebrow raised in derision. “No offense to you, but I maintain that we recruited the wrong Rogers.”

Steve takes that like a verbal sucker-punch to the gut. He’s used to being underestimated because of his size and his background. It’s something he’s had to battle all his life, but just like those other times, he straightens his shoulders and meets her gaze unflinchingly. “Maybe I can’t change your mind,” he says. “That’s fine. I just need to prove you wrong. If you’re up t’ the challenge.”

Romonav’s lips stretch into a predatory smile. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says before she moves to exit the office. “We don’t play with kiddie gloves here,” is the last comment she makes before she’s gone.

“She’ll come around,” Coulson declares with a kinder tone. “She’s only so abrasive because she’s technically the first success story of the Avenger’s Initiative. So she cares very deeply that things go extremely well with the next generation of Agents.”

“She thinks I’m a liability,” Steve realizes.

“Doesn’t matter either way how she may feel about you,” Fury interjects. “It’s not solely her call to make and I want you here. I see your potential for what it is.”

“That’s high compliments,” Coulson interjects as the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “Director Fury is never so generous. Or protective.”

“Deputy Coulson, please take your slander with you as you leave,” Fury dryly commands and the Beta’s lips twitch again but he gives her and Steve a nod before he exits.

Steve is left alone with the older Alpha in her glass box of an office.

“I’m going to cut right to the chase.” Fury slides a tablet across her desk to him. It’s got a virtual file pulled up on the screen. “Three weeks ago, a criminal mastermind by the name of Victor von Doom submitted himself to the authority of the World Global Security of his own volition.”

Steve frowns curiously at that as he starts to flip through Doom’s file. “Is that significant?” he asks.

“Highly,” Fury replies, watching him read and not bothering to pretend she’s doing anything else. “This guy's an equal opportunity offender, a facilitator of sorts, who's built an enterprise brokering deals for fellow criminals. He has no country. He has no political agenda. Doom's only allegiance is to the highest bidder.”

“They call him something in his file. A title he's referred by numerous times,” Steve points out as his eyes quickly scan over the info. “The Concierge of Crime?”

“He knows the criminal underbelly better than anyone else on this entire planet,” Fury confirms, but there is a lilt to her voice that Steve can’t quite pinpoint. “If it were up to me, I would lock Doom away and throw the key into the deepest ocean. He’s bad news, but in light of recent events with Hydra, the World Global Security has decided to accept the conditions of his surrender.”

“He wants to be the epicenter of the Avenger’s Initiative,” Steve concludes when he reaches the end of Doom’s file. He’d only skimmed what he deemed important, making a mental note to go back and review it with a little more scrutiny later. “Do we know why?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help me figure out once we've prepped you for it,” Fury admits as she stands and gestures for him to follow after she stores and locks her tablet away in one of her desk drawers. “You’re perceptive. I’m giving you whatever access you need to our archives.”

Steve allows himself to be led past the main floor, down the main hall, past the medical wing, the cafeteria, the armory, the evidence locker, the changing rooms, the decompression soundproof rooms, the debriefing rooms, the barracks, and finally to a large room filled with virtual books and virtual files (each on their own individual tablet device).

“I keep pretty busy these days but I’ll do my best to equip you with what you need to become active while you're on probation,” Fury says as she wanders around and starts pulling a few virtual files and books free before shoving them in his arms. She grabs a small nearby cart to fill as well while the other occupants of the archive watch them both with subtle curiosity that’s not really subtle. “That’s gonna last a period of about six months, at the end of which, you will be assessed by a brief tribunal of your peers that will give you the final rubber stamp of approval.”

“Is it too much to hope that Romanov won’t be on that panel?” Steve asks as the corner of his mouth twitches when Fury snorts delicately.

“Keep hope alive but she’s the one that will be leading it,” Fury confirms before she pauses to look at him. “Listen, if it were up to me, I’d sign off on it right here and now. But as is, since I was the one to recruit you, I’m not allowed to hold counsel over it. My opinion is already bias. That’s not to say I’m not going to do everything I can with what little time I can spare to prep you as much as possible.”

Steve continues to follow her down the rows and rows of shelves holding virtual confidential files and knowledge-based books. “You’re more hands-on than any of my other bosses have been, I’ve gotta say,” he remarks.

Fury makes a thoughtful sound as she navigates through the archives with ease and expertise, filling the cart she’s hauling around. “Call me old-fashioned but I always believe that the success of a team is contingent upon the vested interest of its leader. And we’re only as strong as our weakest link. Not to say that I think you're weak, but there’s a truth in that analogy.”

“No, I get it,” Steve assures as they wander back to the front of the archive where all the study cubicles and tables are. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

“Of course. I’m trying to be your ace so utilize me whenever you need,” Fury insists and gestures for him to sit before she pushes the filled cart nearer to him. “Take a few hours to get familiar with as much as you can. I’ve got to run to a meeting but I’ll be back to show you how to schedule a one-on-one sometime in the next couple of weeks with our Quartermaster, Shuri, and she’ll get you set with a few devices essential to Handlers and their workflow.”

Steve nods gratefully.

“Good luck.” Fury claps a hand over his shoulder before she exits in a rush, her leather coat billowing behind her.

Steve sighs as he eyes the filled cart before he pulls out his phone and taps the screen twice before he does the same with his earpiece. “FRIDAY?”

“ _I’m here,_ ” FRIDAY remarks. “ _What_ _can I help you with?_ ”

“How good are you with taking notes and organizing them to streamline into something cohesive for memory?”

“ _The absolute best,_ ” FRIDAY boasts. “ _After all, I was invented for such a purpose, and if this is what it takes to ensure you excel and become the foremost expert in your field, I’ll be happy to oblige. It’s what Boss would want._ ”

Steve smiles, glad to see she’s warmed up to him again. “I will tell him, you know, one day. When I’ve retired,” he promises. “I don’t like the lying any more than you do, but. Well.”

“ _You believe it’s a necessary evil in order to promote the common good on a global scale,_ ” FRIDAY reasons. She’s silent, pondering, assessing before she continues, “ _Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few._ ” 

Steve answers, “Or the one.”

“ _For the short time I have existed, I have found that humans are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered,_ ” FRIDAY says and Steve blanches at that. “ _However, if you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway. If you think this is worth it, Steve, then give the world the best you have. The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. Boss is the strongest among us, and he loves you more than I am able to comprehend. Forgiveness is not an occasional act, I’ve come to learn, but it is a constant attitude. He will forgive you, I think. But he won’t forget._ ”

“I understand,” Steve says, swallowing past a lump in his throat. His chest tightens at the thought of Tony, at how much he misses him, at his frustration with the minor fight they had earlier that blew out of proportion. He clears his throat and pushes it all back. “Shall we begin?”

“ _Ready when you are._ ”

They both dive in.

.

.

.

_winter-soulja-boy-tell-em has shared a photo with “Brooklyn Boys :p”_

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** ok moment of truth  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** which outfit

 **areyoufalconserious:** the first one gets a 10/10  
 **areyoufalconserious:** too bad we cant do anything about your face :/

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** blow me :/

 **areyoufalconserious:** lmao no thanks  
 **areyoufalconserious:** that’s what riley is for

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** steve?  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** what do we think?   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** i gotta leave in like 20 min so today would be nice

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** relax i agree with sam  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** if only we could do something about your face   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** for who could love a beast

_areyoufalconserious laughed at brooklynfisticuffs’s ‘for who could love a beast’ message_

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** goddamn it  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** goddamn it fine ill shave

_areyoufalconserious and brooklynfisticuffs loved winter-soulja-boy-tell-em’s ‘goddamn it fine ill shave’ message_

**areyoufalconserious:  
**

**brooklynfisticuffs:** lol

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** ya’ll some bullies  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** just for that   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** i’m not sharing pics of dogs i saw today

 **areyoufalconserious:** !!!!  
 **areyoufalconserious:** no please we can change

_brooklynfisticuffs emphasized areyoufalconserious’s ‘no please we can change’ message_

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** ¯\\_( :/ )_/¯  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** steve buddy   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** how was your first day at the met   
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** that was today right?   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** i remember you saying that

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** it was  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** i’m leaving now   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** it was very interesting   
**brooklynfisticuffs:** everyone is really nice

_areyoufalconserious and winter-soulja-boy-tell-em loved brooklynfisticuffs’s ‘everyone is really nice’ message_

**areyoufalconserious:** aww my baby all grown up  
 **areyoufalconserious:** got himself an adult job and shit

 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** yeah tell us more about what you’ll be doing  
 **winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** and also feel free to list what discounts you can give to family and friends ;p

 **areyoufalconserious:** THAT PART THAT PART THAT PART

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** lol yeah ok  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** so maybe i should start from the very very beginning of my day  
 **brooklynfisticuffs:** tony figured out how to send peter back

.

.

.

Steve is standing at the bus terminal up the street from the Met, waiting for the line that’s going to take him back to Ma’s, texting Sam and Bucky during that time during a lightning round exchange. He’s being tag-teamed by his best friends, who are calling him an absolute dummy for not staying with Tony when he clearly needed the extra support, just as a sleek luxury car rolls up.

The window rolls down in the back and reveals Tony wearing a pair of designer shades with a completely neutral expression. “Hey, Cap. Why the long face?” he questions flatly. 

“Just realizing how much of an idiot I am,” Steve replies as the bond comes alive between them, blooming with subdued greys that are tinged with just a hint of reddish pinks. “Are we still fighting?” he asks gently.

Tony is hard to read with those sunglasses on. He doesn’t respond for a long time before he opens the door and gestures for Steve to climb in. He keeps a good distance between them as they both buckle in. “Don’t apologize,” he warns, fingers flying over the screen of his phone, keeping busy. “Not yet. Happy?”

Happy nods at him and begins to pull away from the curb to drive in the opposite direction of where they should be heading.

“Hi, Mr. Hogan,” Steve greets, really taking notice of him. He’s got a nice suit on. “How are you?”

“I’m all sunshine and daisies,” Happy replies in that gruff but warm tone of his. “But what else should one expect when they are employed by such a character.”

“Be nice,” Tony snorts, kicking the back of Happy’s seat without looking up from his phone, finally cracking a small smile that Steve tries his hardest not to be jealous over. 

“Sure, I’ll be sweet as sugar. No worries, Boss,” Happy teases as he merges onto the highway. “And call me Happy, Steve. None of that ‘Mr. Hogan’ stuff.”

“Happy,” Steve concedes, fidgeting as he glances to Tony, who is continually ignoring him. “So, ah, where are we headed?”

“Relax, Steve,” Tony remarks, still not looking up from his phone. “Happy, can you put on some music, please?”

“Sure thing,” Happy replies, sounding amused as he fiddles with the touchscreen dashboard and soon some light jazz music fills the tense silence of the car.

It’s literal torture, being confined in such a small space that’s filled to the brim with Tony’s sugary scent and not being able to touch him. He pines for his fiancé, who is mere inches away and not even going through his emails can keep him preoccupied. He sighs and exits out of it without really looking because he’s too distracted by the fact that Tony’s side of the bond is starting to burst with devious purples.

It all makes sense an hour later when they pull up to a paintball arena that Tony has rented out for just for the two of them.

“I don’t want us to fight over who was right or wrong,” Tony explains as they get dressed in their jumpsuits and gear in the locker room. “I thought this would be a creative alternative.”

“You never fail to amaze me,” Steve swears with nothing but warmth and fondness. “This why you didn’t want me to apologize?”

Tony nods. “I mean, you will, eventually. But I have to earn it first. And vice versa. This is mostly about who has to go first. Plus, a few additions,” he goes on to clarify with a neutral expression but his side of the bond is exploding in fireworks of dark purple hues.

“Oh?” Steve zips up his jumpsuit and doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching Tony do the same.

“If I win, I get to decide how I want you to apologize. I also want a whole weekend where I can get you custom-fitted clothes and accessories you have to wear to work,” Tony drawls as his full mouth twists with a coyness that makes Steve want to suffocate himself between the Omega’s thighs. “Then after I’ve spoiled you, I want you to _spoil me._ I want you to spank me and let me bounce on your cock for as long as I want.” He blushes so prettily as he boldly says it but he doesn't take it back either.

Steve is suddenly and uncomfortably hard at the visual that remark unfolds in his mind. “And, uh …” It’s ridiculous how high-pitched his voice is right now. What, is he going through puberty again? Steve feels his face redden as he quickly clears his throat while Tony lifts a patiently amused brow, looking visibly flattered by how flustered Steve is getting. “Me? I - what would I get if I win?” 

Tony runs a hand through his hair, dragging his fingers through his fresh-cut in a confident, and arousingly cocky way. “I feel like you shouldn’t even worry about that because you’re not.” 

The dry look Steve aims his way could put the Sahara to shame. 

Tony laughs, all bubbly and cheerful, doing funning things to Steve's heart, and he says, “Jesus, okay, fine. If by some freak accident you win this thing - what would you like?” 

Steve instantly thinks of a gleaming silicon vibrator dragging in and out of Tony while his thighs shake, covered in sweat, tugging and yanking at his cuffed hands in a way that causes the headboard to knock loudly against the wall. 

“Steve?” Tony looks curiously amused. 

“I'm just ... thinking about what I want.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Nearly the same conditions as yours, but you’ve got nothing to apologize for, so that can be nixed. I'm replacing it with something else.”

Tony waits for him to continue, saying, "Still listening."

“I want us to go to therapy and I want you to not fight me about that without at least giving it a try.”

Tony’s expression suddenly morphs into something mutinous. He's silent for a long time. His shrewd gaze makes Steve feel like he's being flayed alive. But finally, after a few more beats of silence, Tony takes a deep breath before nodding. 

“Also, I’m not done,” Steve continues, grinning when Tony rolls his eyes and rolls his wrist in a lazy gesture for Steve to continue like a prince humoring the whims of someone in his court. “You also have to help me pick out toys that you’re completely okay for me to use on you for an entire weekend. And after we’ve made you cum in every possible way from that, until you can’t anymore, I want you to let me draw on your body.” 

Tony’s face has never gotten as red as it does at that moment. “Why are you such a devious little shit?” he laughingly complains, slapping a hand over his flushed face and shuts his eyes in fond exasperation. 

Steve absolutely adores him. He raises his hand, offering his pinky.

Tony glances at it as he fights down a knowing smile before looping it with his own, squeezing their pinkies together affectionately. 

After that, it's war.

.

.

.

They tie for first place because of course they tie for first place. Streaked from head to toe in splattered paint, voices trembling with humor and affection, they argue over what they should use as the tie-breaker for who can go first since they both technically won.

Happy suggests, without knowing what the stakes are, that they flip a coin to decide before ushering them into the back seat of the luxury car to take them back to Brooklyn. 

Steve picks heads and Tony picks tails.

Tails win.

Tony gets to go first and is very pleased about it.

Steve just likes seeing the Omega smile at him again so he doesn’t complain in the least for having to wait for his turn until Tony redeems his weekend.

After Happy drops them off, agreeing to come pick them up tomorrow to take them to the ferry docks for Staten Island, and after they spend a few minutes explaining to his Ma why they’re in such a state and the older Alpha listens with exasperation but definite fond mirth in her eyes, they retreat to their bedroom to take separate showers.

Later, when they're in bed in nothing but their underwear, while _The Princess Bride_ plays from Steve’s laptop, Tony sits on a throne of pillows at the head of the bed while Steve sits in the middle with the Omega’s feet in his lap. He’s massaging the high arches of Tony’s feet as he sighs pleasantly while wiggling his toes because that’s the kind of apology that Tony feels he is owed.

The movie plays and they watch it absentmindedly since they’ve seen it together over a dozen times now, if not more. They mostly focus on each other, dissecting their earlier argument until they come to a mutual understanding about it and find satisfactory closure. They even go as far as working with FRIDAY to set up a virtual shared calender so they can continue to be on the same page about their differing schedules. After that, they take turns talking about their day.

“You cut your hair,” Steve comments, still massaging Tony’s feet while the Omega texts away on his phone, mostly to follow up with Dora about how her date went, he explains. 

Tony lifts his gaze up from the screen of his phone with a sleepy smile, his face glowing with a pleased pink hue. Then he laughs and says, “So I told you Dora and I linked up after you left, right? She wanted to look her best, so we went shopping. We stopped by a hairdresser in the middle of all that. We were on Fifth and lucky for us there was a spot not too far from where we already were. It was a nice enough place, great reviews according to FRI when I asked her. And they did do amazing work with Dora, I mean, she was red carpet ready. But my person, well, do you know what she said to me after she asked if I was in a relationship?”

Steve shakes his head, cocking it curiously as he cups his hands over the back of Tony’s knees to drag him closer until the Omega is sitting astride his hips.

Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders as he squirms in his lap with a darkening flush. “She said you wouldn’t notice,” he goes on to explain. “She said Alphas rarely pay attention to that sort of thing unless you spell it out. All her Omega clients complain enough to prove her point.”

Steve huffs and rolls his eyes. “Christ, people assume the weirdest things,” he mutters as he reaches up and combs his long fingers through Tony’s dark hair. “Who doesn't want to know that we notice them and value them? And who might respond to us better when they feel that they matter? It probably cannot be overstated, but, you matter, Tony. You matter to me. Everything about you. Even if a single eyelash is out of place, I want to be in a position to notice that. I want to be devoted to you. You’re my religion and your body is a church to me, an alter I always want to worship at. You’ve given me so many of your firsts, why wouldn’t I continue to show appreciation of that?”

Tony is silently crying, pressing shaking hands to the sides of Steve’s face with a tenderness that makes Steve’s heart throb with the kind of yearning only Tony can entice. “Maybe the best things are those that take the most work, you know? Maybe how you get somewhere can be the least important as where you're going or who’s going with you. But one thing’s certain for me, Steve. I don’t ever want to live without you, okay?”

Steve feels his breath catch as warm validation gathers in the pit of his stomach like tendrils of piping hot broth.

“I used to wonder, you know, about how love and forgiveness budded. Not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night,” Tony goes on to say, holding his gaze with transparent love. “I had parents that were so awful to me. Even when I thought I was doomed to a life of misery, I always had hope. It was a weak little thing, but it was there. It’s what led me to you. And you’ve helped me understand that life isn’t just a sandwich of pain where birth is one slice, and death is the other - duty and obligation act as the in-betweens. With you, to say the least, I feel invincible.” He pauses while he swipes his thumb over the arc of Steve’s cheek, watching the motion as he gathers his thoughts. “Do you know what I’m talking about? Is any of this making sense?”

Steve laughs wetly and nods in Tony’s handhold. “Yes,” he promises, pressing a hand to Tony’s lower stomach where their unborn child is - where their _daughter_ is. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have, Tony. In my past relationships, I was always seeking that special person who was right for me. But I’d been through enough relationships that didn’t work out, and to be honest, I began to suspect that there was no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Then there was you and - god, honey. Being loved by you gives me strength, but being _in_ love with you gives me courage.”

Tony kisses him, passionately, deeply, desperately like he could shatter if they ever stopped.

So Steve doesn’t stop. He opens his mouth and lets Tony sink inside, lets him take what he needs, steal what he wants, and Steve gives all that he has. 

Tony has this thing where he never kisses the same way he has before and it always blows Steve’s mind. His kisses are not like what movie stars try to portray, but they are always steeped in a passion that ignites, in the promise of realness, of primal desire.

Steve feels lightheaded and dizzy under the attention. He submits to it and smiles dazedly as Tony leaves his mouth to stamp affectionate kisses all over his face that communicates that he loves Steve in a selfish, greedy, and possessive way. 

The bond bursts between them in fireworks of candied pinks and apple reds. 

“I love you,” Tony says, promises - swears. “I don’t think I can ever stop.”

“Yeah?” Steve rubs his hands up and down the outside of Tony’s thighs, scenting him prominently. “I second that.”

“Yeah?” Tony echoes with a huge smile, brushing their noses together. “Even when we fuss and fight?”

“Especially then,” Steve quips and tackles him onto the mound of pillows, tickling his Omega until he begs for mercy.

After a while, they just lay on their sides, facing each other with their legs tangled together. They say nothing as they gaze at one another with sleepy, fond grins, breathing the same air with contented calmness.

Steve is the one to break it by admitting, “I miss him too.”

Tony’s grin shrinks a little. He says, “Peter?”

“I miss him,” Steve confirms. “Spent all day trying not to think about it too much. There were times when I wanted to go to the bathroom just so I could cry.”

Tony reaches out and cups his hand over the side of Steve’s neck to massage his scent gland. “I didn't realize that it was hard on you too. Why didn’t I see that?”

“I wanted to be there for you,” Steve explains, even as tears build in his eyes. He really didn’t expect to cry about it right then and there, but here he is, ready to bawl like a baby. “I didn’t - I wanted to be strong so you could - so you could lean on me.”

“I’m here for you too, you goof,” Tony chastises gently. “We can be as strong or as weak as we need to be together. Same team, right?”

Steve chokes on a wet laugh and nods. “Same team.”

“Come here then. Let me be there for you,” Tony urges with open arms, cooing softly when Steve quickly huddles close to allow himself to be folded in a tight hug. “It’s okay, lamb. You can let it out. I’m here.”

Steve sobs and lets himself be vulnerable, lets himself be held, and lets himself be comforted.

Tony supports him through it all as best as he can with tender words and gentle scenting.

It doesn’t completely minimize Steve’s pain, but Tony’s presence acts like a soothing balm, and it’s more than enough.

.

.

.

 **To:**[stevegrogers@gmail.com](mailto:stevegrogers@gmail.com)   
**From:**[stanlee@excelsior-comics.com  
](mailto:stanlee@excelsior-comics.com) **CC:**[mediarelations@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:mediarelations@lee-entertainment.com), [legal@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:legal@lee-entertainment.com), [publications@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:publications@lee-entertainment.com), [corporate@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:corporate@lee-entertainment.com), [topstaff@excelsior-comics.com](mailto:topstaff@excelsior-comics.com)   
**Subject:** Compensation Offer for Intellectual Property [Iron Man]

Dear Mr. Rogers, 

Good morning! I hope this finds you well, young man.

My name is Stan Lee, the principal editor, and publisher of _Lee Entertainment_ , home to many beloved household names such as _Spider-Man_ , _The Punisher,_ _Guardians of the Galaxy_ and _Wolverine_ (to say the least). 

I am very excited to have been introduced to your artwork by way of one of my interns, who happened to attend this year’s _Brooklyn Street Amateurs present’s Absurdist Art_. They purchased a short comic panel you created for your “ _Iron Man_ ” project submission and explained the motivations behind its creation. 

We here at _Excelsior Comics_ are highly impressed with the potential of your artwork and would like to formally offer you generous compensation in exchange for the intellectual property. We see great potential in this storyline and would like the opportunity to explore it with your permission. If this is something that interests you, please review the compensation letter attached to this email at your leisure. 

If you are open to it, I would love to set up an introductory call to discuss this offer in more detail. Should you find our proposal satisfactory, here’s a [link](https://the-stan-lee-wikia.fandom.com/wiki/Excelsior!) to my calendar to schedule a time that works best for you.

Thanks so much, and I look forward to speaking with you soon. :)

Excelsior!

Stan M. Lee  
Co-founder of Lee Entertainment, LLC   
135 W 50th St, New York, NY 10020   
General inquiries (toll-free): 212-555-5555   
[excelsior-comics@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:excelsior-comics@lee-entertainment.com)


	35. YEAR 1: PART III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's POV - i don't know when the next update will be, this is giving me a hard time :(

**To:** [stanlee@excelsior-comics.com  
](mailto:stanlee@excelsior-comics.com) **From:** [stevegrogers@gmail.com  
](mailto:stevegrogers@gmail.com) **CC:** [rileywilson@thompsonlawfirm.com](mailto:rileywilson@thompsonlawfirm.com), [mediarelations@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:mediarelations@lee-entertainment.com), [legal@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:legal@lee-entertainment.com), [publications@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:publications@lee-entertainment.com), [corporate@lee-entertainment.com](mailto:corporate@lee-entertainment.com), topstaff@excelsior-comics.com    
 **Subject: Re:** Compensation Offer for Intellectual Property [Iron Man]

Hello,

Wow, thank you very much, Mr. Lee. The offer letter is very generous. 

I am really interested in hearing the ideas of where you’d like to take things. 

My fiancé is a big fan of you and yours, and I would love to surprise him with this. Would you be able to tell me more about the timeline in terms of publication dates? Again, I would love to be able to surprise my better half and would love to be able to give him one of the first copies for wherever you decide to take the storyline. A lot of it was inspired by him.

I look forward to discussing this further with you as well. I’ve already selected a date and time I think will work for both of us via your calendar link. For transparency, I’ve looped in my attorney. 

Best,

Steve Rogers

.

.

.

Steve is woken right before dawn to the sensation of butterfly kisses being pressed to both of his eyelids. His first instinct is to reach for his pregnant Omega and his next thought is to find a mouth to kiss. He’s successful in both ventures and he’s rewarded with supple full lips going slack in surprise before curling into a smile. They both sigh with the pleasure and gentle intimacy that connection creates. He loves the way Tony lets himself be pulled back into bed and into his embrace.

They spend ten glorious minutes making out lazily, breathing in the combined harmony of their pheromones, their hands roaming over one another, and Steve doesn’t have to open his eyes once.

Steve is okay with it for the first nine minutes but when it hits the ten-minute mark, he can’t stand the thought of not being able to gaze upon Tony’s beautiful face. He’s suddenly insatiably hungry for it and it’s strong enough to defeat his desire to go back to sleep. He opens his eyes.

Tony’s grinning down at him from where he’s leaning against Steve, looking smug and blushing a pretty pink that matches the oversized, thin fuzzy sweater he’s paired with those black jeans that hug his thighs a little too tight. “There are those gorgeous blues. Good morning, lamb. I was literally just thinking about the best way to wake you up. I didn’t realize my kisses were that powerful,” he teases.

“Baby doll, you don’t even know the _half_ of it,” Steve rumbles with a deep, affectionate tone that makes Tony shiver. It excites something in his Alpha lizard brain to see a wave of goosebumps break out across Tony’s skin. His gaze drops to the delicate slope of Tony’s neck, and suddenly his teeth itch to rest there, to take that openly shameless display of submission his Omega is communicating. He lifts up on his elbows before he even realizes that he’s moving but Tony is quicker, flushing deeply as he springs out of reach. “Don’t run, honey,” he complains/growls. “That’s just an invitation for me to chase you down.”

“I know,” Tony breathes, chest heaving a little in excitement while his side of the bond bleeds with muddled purples, pinks, and reds. His pupils are dilating as his mouth curls into a grin. “I figured the adrenaline might help you wake up.”

Steve grumbles, only for show, before slumping back into the pillows. “And you call _me_ devious,” he mutters, grinning when it gets Tony to bark out a surprised laugh at the pointed jab. “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What’s next?”

“Aw,” Tony laughs. “Don’t be bitter, Apple Pie. I promise there’s a reason for all this. Get up so I can spoil you. C’mon. Chop, chop.”

Steve winces at the way Tony’s clapping echoes loudly in their room. “You wanna spoil me, huh?” he asks, still not moving from where he’s sprawled like a starfish among the rumpled sheets and pillows. He smiles as he thinks about how he never before slept with so many pillows in his life until Tony came along, and now he can’t imagine a peaceful night of sleep without them. “Is this the start of your weekend? You making the declaration?”

“Nope,” Tony says, popping the ‘p’ firmly. “That’s pleasure, lamb, and this is strictly business. I don’t ever mix the two. Now get your wonderful ass up. We’ve got an appointment that I won’t let you make us late for. Seriously, how does someone like you never miss a day of work but always miss the on-time mark for other things?”

“One of my many glorious talents,” Steve remarks sarcastically, staring up at the ceiling from where he hasn’t moved an inch. “Did I ever mention I was born almost a week and a half past my Da’s due date?”

“Now why does that not surprise me?” Tony huffs and Steve can see him shaking his head with exasperated fondness out of the corner of his eye. “Jellybean better not get any ideas like that once the fourteenth of February rolls around. There’s nothing cuter than having a daughter born on _Valentine’s Day_. I absolutely love everything about the idea.”

Steve smiles and agrees, mostly because he thinks it’s fitting that their daughter makes her introduction to the world on a day of love since that’s exactly how she was created. 

“Speaking of, how do you feel about the name Potpourri? That way we can call her Popo for short.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, sure. Why stop there? We might as well call her Twelve or Five-Oh.”

“I do like numbers,” Tony sincerely agrees before he breaks at the incredulous stare Steve shoots him. “Oh my god, I’m _kidding_. There’s no way I would actually name our kid after a bowl of dead flowers. I was trying to get an emotional rise out of you since you won’t physically.”

Steve spends a few minutes laughing at the pointed jab before he heaves himself up with a sigh, promising, “Alright, alright. I’m up.” 

“It’s a miracle,” Tony drawls with a flat look before gesturing at the end of the bed where there’s an outfit waiting (black slacks and a light pink button-down). The coloring is, of course, similar to what Tony has. “Bought us some time by sorting out an outfit for you. Try not to take more than an hour getting ready. We have an appointment, as I’ve said.”

Steve huffs and climbs out of bed, stalking towards his pregnant Omega, looking so soft and irresistible in all that pretty pink.

“No, no, no!” Tony laughingly exclaims, leaping across the bed to the opposite side, and points a stern finger. “You don’t get to touch until you are clean, dressed, and ready to go. Chop, chop.”

Steve frowns miserably but Tony doesn’t even bat an eye at it, the cruel brat. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” he grumbles, heading into their bathroom. He turns on the sink and starts rummaging through the drawers for his toothbrush. “What time is it?” he calls out.

“ _Little after five!_ ” 

“Christ,” Steve mumbles to himself. “Sure feels like it.”

But nevertheless, he works on getting ready in a timely manner.

.

.

.

“Okay.” Tony says from behind him, where he’s covering Steve’s eyes. “Take a look.”

Steve opens his eyes and blinks in surprise, inhaling sharply when he’s met with the sight of rows and rows of lit jewelry cases while nicely uniformed sales associates wait on standby behind the displays. “Are we - Tony, are we - is this _Tiffany’s?_ ” he manages to choke out, heat building in his eyes.

“Yes,” Tony simply says with a cocksure grin. “You’re not the only one who knows how to make grand romantic gestures. I want you to pick out a ring. Any one you like. I’ll buy it for you,” he swears. “Don't worry about the price.”

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to flutter right out of his chest, and his knees shake a little. “But you don’t have to - I mean, this is all -” He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say, utterly stumped and blown away by the gravity of the situation. 

“Steve, lamb, honestly,” Tony sighs with such affectionate fondness, cupping a hand under his chin to turn his face towards him. When their eyes meet, he says, “There’s no amount I wouldn’t spend on you. It’s not about what I do or don’t have to do. It’s about what I’ve _always wanted_ to give you, ever since we met, which is the world, Steve. I wanna give you the world, but I’ll settle for an engagement ring for now. Plus, it doesn’t hurt the fact that anytime someone compliments it, you can say that I bought it for you. You can tell the whole world that you're mine.”

Steve pulls him into a kiss, open-mouth, and devouring, until Tony’s knees shake with it and he makes a small wounded noise, fisting the back of Steve’s shirt until he leaves a ripple of wrinkles. 

Tony pulls away with a dazed gasp, trying to catch his breath while his whole face colors. He’s speechless for a few moments before he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut while he tries to gather his thoughts.

It makes Steve want to fuck his brains out right then and there, with all those employees watching as an Alpha makes a public claim of his Omega like their ancestors did before things became completely civilized. 

“I’m yours, sweetheart,” Steve pants, promises - swears. “Of course I’m yours.”

Tony makes another desperate noise, biting it off before it can morph into a whine while Steve holds him close where there is no space between them.

Steve can feel his mouth water as Tony releases a potent cloud of pheromones that smells of candied peaches drowning in the thickest, sweetest syrup.

The Omega’s gaze is half-lidded, wanton, as the blush on his face spreads at the knowledge that they both know he’s getting wet.

The grip Steve has on the back of Tony’s upper arms tighten slightly as he watches his pregnant Omega bite his bottom lip seductively. He’s got to get ahold of this thing before it goes off the rails. So he sighs, reaching up to use his thumb to gentle Tony’s bottom lip free. “That’s for me, Sweet Pea,” he playfully admonishes, voice low and rumbling. “I told you about that.”

Tony’s side of the bond deepens with wine colors tinged with the darkest purples. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me then, _Alpha_ ,” he retorts like a brat, cheeks reddening as he boldly draws Steve’s thumb into his warm mouth slowly while maintaining eye contact.

It takes absolutely everything in Steve not to get hard but dear god, it’s a close call. “Christ, I wanna spank you,” he groans quietly, pressing his thumb down on Tony’s tongue before he takes his hand back. “Come on, little Omega. We’re making a scene.”

Tony’s face goes bright pink as he glances around quickly. He clears his throat and says, “It’s, um. It’s not a problem.” He goes on to clarify, “Ms. Everhart had legal forward an NDA when she helped me rent out this store. She said we should get used to being in the habit of doing that whenever we make arrangements like this after my adoption goes public.”

Steve makes a thoughtful sound at that, rubbing his hands up and down the outside of Tony’s arms for some light scenting, enjoying how soft Tony’s pink sweater feels under his hands. He says as much to Tony.

“Doesn’t it feel _divine?_ ” Tony boasts with this coy look that only increases Steve’s desire to go down on him. “It’s _Versace_. I won’t tell you how much it costs because you’d probably gawk at it but I think it’s worth how it looks on me, don't you? Besides, Dora bought it for me while we were out shopping since I bought the dress she wore on her date. I’ve got a feeling that’s gonna be a thing with us.”

Steve finds that amusingly cute. He’s glad that Tony is building up such an arsenal of good, supportive friends. He wants more of that for his fiancé, and then some.

“Anyway, let’s get you something to brag about, Mr. Rogers. We’ve got one more stop to make after this one,” Tony remarks as he laces their fingers together.

Steve lets himself be dragged over to the first display case with an indulgent smile meant solely for his fiancé.  

Tony’s face lights up with an excited grin as he watches Steve try on different rings he finds interesting enough to test out. 

Steve has to admit, it gives him a certain thrill to try on anything he wants without having to worry about the price. Not that the prices were on display but since it’s _Tiffany’s_ \- Christ, he can’t get over it - how high the numbers must be for each ring he takes for a test run just goes without saying. 

It’s also kind of wild experiencing Tony like this, acting like spoiled capitalist royalty hell-bent on getting his way and as perfectly as possible. The only difference is that he’s never mean or rude about it. If anything, he’s as sweet as sugar, batting his eyelashes with a friendly smirk while he makes his requests, thanking them each time they’ve been met with a self-satisfied grin.

Steve finds this side of Tony absolutely fascinating, and very, _very_ hot. It makes him want to put Tony on his knees.

Tony sometimes glances at him and goes as pink as the pretty sweater he’s wearing when he notices.

The bond continues to burst in red and pink fireworks between them the whole time.

After maybe two hours, Steve sees it - he sees the perfect ring. 

It’s a 3.5 mm wide 18k rose gold band with round brilliant diamonds. It glimmers subtly like a distant star, and yet glittered like the sun-kissed ocean lapping the sands - like how the bond blooms between them most days when their love for each other is equal and parallel.

“That one,” Steve points, almost shakily, at it. His fingerprint smudges against the bright, clear glass. “Could we - could we look at that one?”

Tony makes a gesture to the sales associate, who then unlocks the display case to pull out the sleek container holding a dozen rings in it.

Once it’s set before Steve, he quickly lifts the ring from its crevice and slips it on, hold his hand up, turning it this way and that way. He takes a deep breath as something in him settles and it’s then he knows. “This is the one,” he announces.

Tony meets the sales associate’s eye from over Steve’s shoulder and gives a subtle nod.

The sales associate grabs Steve’s hand and takes off the thin sensor and UPC tag so Steve can continue to wear it while she walks with Tony to the register to check him out.

Steve’s heart is fluttering like a hummingbird as he continues to stare at his ring in amazement, thrilled. He kisses Tony the moment he’s back within reaching distance and smiles at the way it gets his pregnant Omega to burst into those adorable manic giggles he does sometimes when he’s extremely happy and content. 

“I love you too,” Tony huffs with fond exasperation, ducking away from Steve’s affectionate kisses so he can drag his Alpha out the store. “Let’s get going before we miss our next appointment!”

“Is there food involved?” Steve asks as Tony shoves him out the exits and towards their luxury car where Happy is waiting in the driver’s seat, keeping himself amused with the Nintendo Switch Lite that Tony bought for him. “Because I’m starving.”

“We’ll stop at a bakery and get you a muffin or something,” Tony simply says and bullies him into the backseat.

.

.

.

 **The Linda-Marina Arc Hotel** is made up of twin sky-rises, connected by a single glass bridge, that sits directly across the street from Hammer Industries and is filled to the brim with luxury condos for affluent clientele. 

It’s a place Steve would never have thought twice about, let alone glance at since he never thought he’d fit the criteria required to stay at a place of such great comfort and extravagant living. For Christ’s sake, the lobby area was filled with high-end department stores, a lavish spa, and a pricey steakhouse. 

Yet here Steve was, taking the elevator up with Tony and the Property Manager to view the apartments directly under Hammer’s (a place he’s been insisting that the couple take a gander at). Though Steve does have to admit at being impressed by the security of the place and how seriously it’s taken. That sort of thing matters to Steve as much as it obviously matters to his future father-in-law.

The Property Manager is a Beta woman by the name of Antoinetta-Marina, the great-granddaughter of Linda-Marina (the original founder of the Arc Hotel). She’s a very sweet, mild-mannered dark-skinned woman with rainbow-colored dreadlocks and a septum piercing, who seems to be just a little older than Steve. She happily explains, on the elevator ride up to the top floors, “I’m so excited to show you what we've got for you. We adore having Mr. Hammer and would be delighted to house the rest of his family. Though, our policy here is that the house of the future is no 'house' at all. Every building we build, both big and tall, is to conserve the land and preserve habitats. My great grandmother always kept the ongoing Climate Crises in mind when she envisioned building the most fantastic of places to live.”

“What do you offer?” Tony asks, lacing his fingers with Steve as he huddles close into Steve’s side.

Steve smiles and can’t resist lifting an arm to rest on his pregnant Omega’s shoulder to gather him even closer, enjoying the way Tony sighs happily with it.

Antoinetta-Marina replies, “I’m glad you asked, Mr. Rogers! Amenities include all utilities, garbage disposal, free WiFi and cable, comprehensive fitness areas, pet-friendly spaces, and car charging stations in our private parking garage. For those with children, the Marina Towers have entire floors that are just jungle gyms for different ages and some even have slides that spiral from the top to the bottom floor. All of it is monitored by learning and development specialists who graduated top of their class. We also have other floors for indoor nature walks with special lighting to allow the plants to grow, dine-in theatres and heated indoor lagoons in our East Marina Tower. No matter the weather outside, that space can be used to walk dogs and let the children play. We also have a laundry and cleaning service that’s free of charge to those who stay with us. Everyone has a covered balcony - a private place to sit in the sun - and upon the roof of the West Marina Tower is another garden with pergolas and picnic tables, which is perfect for get-togethers. Soundproofing technology has come along so far that these condos are quieter than living on a street used to be. Our apartments use far less energy and last far longer. Plus, if you wish to be social it's so simple. We walk to the stores, to school, everywhere really. With buildings like ours, any city becomes a village.”

Steve has to admit he’s quite impressed, and by the way that Tony’s side of the bond blooms with curious yellows and fascinated oranges, he knows they are of the same mind. 

The elevator doors open after Antoinetta-Marina scans her key badge, which she explains is specifically designed for each resident for their safety, and she leads them into the three-level condo. She guides them to the kitchen first, watching them roam around the sleek, professionally designed area while she remarks, “This is an open kitchen concept. If you would like that to change, we can see what the construction company we’re contracted with can do. As is, we have more of a bespoke design here. Granite counters, stainless steel appliances, which are spotless, scrubbed, and well equipped. We believe in utilizing fifty percent of our energy from wind power and the other half from solar so that it’s as environmentally friendly as possible. Everything is pretty much touch screen, from the dishwasher to the refrigerator and the stove. We also have heated floors and voice-controlled dimmer switches in every room.”

Steve thinks it’s a very magnificently designed kitchen, and he can envision the mornings he could spend with Tony in here, talking over tea as they eat while they get ready for work. Or even late-night snack runs they make in here, kissing between scoops of ice cream or bites of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“Shall we move on to the dining room?” Antoinetta-Marina asks, standing at the edge of the kitchen area.

Steve looks to Tony who shrugs at him with a grin before he nods at Antoinetta-Marina.

They follow the Beta woman through the open doorway leading to the area on the other side of the kitchen.

The dining-room is exquisite. 

The walls were covered with a rich mint green paint and in the middle of the ceiling above the carved oak table was a candelabra. 

The dining room was elegant in a minimalist sort of way, yet still echoed the natural world outside the Marina Towers. The floor beneath it all was slate, and with tall mullioned windows, it’s a fine place for the evening meal. The table dominated the space, an elongated ellipse of oak with raw bark at the edges. 

Antoinetta-Marina clarifies, “The tree had been a victim of a violent storm a few years back, upended root ball and all. The chairs had come from the same tree, each one beautiful in its simplicity, all clean straight lines, and high backs. Again, I have to emphasize we really believe in being sustainable here, which is why most of the furnishings will be from repurposed materials. Shall we venture towards the living room?”

After Steve and Tony have their visual fill of the area, they nod. 

Next, the Beta woman leads them back towards a wonderfully glam lounge area that’s already furnished. The L-shaped white couch, paired with a couple of white chairs, complement the marigold-colored rug, all facing towards an impressively huge flat-screen TV with surround sound. 

Antoinetta-Marina clarifies, “This is what we describe as a 'Jewel-toned' living room. For this specific condo, it was inspired by our designers who visited London townhouses that had their drawing rooms filled with custom designs, such as a sofa covered in a Donghia patterned velvet, another upholstered in a Le Manach silk velvet, and a round banquette, which is topped with a 1940s French bronze sculpture. White walls and contemporary furniture give this living room a clean and classic feel. Natural elements, by way of the driftwood coffee table and the greenery in the accents lining the couch pillows, bring the outdoors in.”

Tony drags Steve to one of the cushy armchairs facing the windows that give a beautiful view of Central Park from the lower end, and he shoves the Alpha down into it before climbing into his lap. He squirms in Steve’s lap, humming with thoughtful and considering sounds before he grins down at Steve. “Yeah, I think this will do just nicely,” he remarks.

Steve huffs and replies, “Oh, am I furniture too?”

Antoinetta-Marina chuckles when Tony replies, “Yes, you are. But only the best kind. I have to make sure you fit with the rest of the room, otherwise, it’s a no-go.”

“Well, glad to see I fit into the design,” Steve mutters sarcastically and rolls his eyes when Tony just pinches his cheeks before standing to his feet again.

“We’re good here. What’s next?” Tony asks, following after Antoinetta-Marina as she leads them down the hall with four guest rooms and two bathrooms. Then she leads them to the staircase that guides them up to the second level, where there are more bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, however, meant for a growing family. 

“These are left empty to design to your taste,” Antoinetta-Marina explains when they go through each nicely sized room (there are at least seven of them in total). “You can turn it into a nursery, or maybe even a playroom, or any age-specific theme that fits your children. We’re also contracted with a lot of New York’s top designers if you should ever need the additional help. Are we ready to go to the third level and view the master bedroom?” 

Steve and Tony look to each other before they nod at the Beta woman.

Antoinetta-Marina guides them up to the final level of the condo, explaining, “The theme behind the master bedroom is sleek, current, and tranquil - aimed for a sense of adventure.”

Steve wanders around to look at all the soft greys and blues of the California king bed, which matches the coloring of the sitting area just off to the side next to the wall of windows that also presents a scenic sight of the top of Central Park from the lower end. The sleek and simple look of the master bedroom makes for a calming set-up that's ideal for getting a good night's rest, that much Steve knows from his artistic background and he quietly says as much when Tony joins him while they wander the huge walk-in closet.

Antoinetta-Marina is still speaking from the doorway, “From stimulating hues to rich textures, there's no shortage of visual interest throughout the space, especially in the master bedroom. The design scheme features a custom master bed and sofa from Mishaan’s line for Theodore Alexander — both in a Maharam mohair. The bed linens are by Matouk, the armchairs are by Holly Hunt, and the Plexiglas cocktail table is by Charly Bounan. The brass pendants are by Roll & Hill, and the Willy Rizzo floor lamp is from the Flair Home Collection.”

“I never thought I would ever fall in love with a place,” Tony says while they tour the glimmering bathroom, which is equipped with a double sink, two stand-in showers with a movable jet spray and a largely deep jacuzzi tub that acts as the epicenter of the room. “But I am _in love_ with this place, Steve.”

“Ah, wait until you see the special request Mr. Hammer made for the extensions he wanted to be added to this floor,” Antoinetta-Marina quips from the doorway of the bathroom, grabbing their attention. “If you’re ready?”

“I’m almost afraid to see what he had in mind,” Tony jokes but nods at the Beta woman to show they are ready.

They are led down the hall where there are two doors sitting opposite of each other.

“This one, is for Steve,” Antoinetta-Marina moves to open the door on the right to a wonderfully lit art studio/workshop. “Mr. Hammer kept your profession in mind when this was commissioned. Which is why you will notice the suspension lamps by Flos, vintage Norman Cherner built-in drawers on the walls holding every artistic tool known to man - all properly labeled with what they contain - and a Le Corbusier sling chair and sketching table facing the beautiful view of the cityscape.”

Steve is speechless. This is like his dream studio/workshop. “He even nailed the misting fan,” he comments, looking up at it.

Tony joins his side and asks, “What’s that for?”

“Art studios get hot, especially in the summertime,” Steve explains, as he crouches down to look at the tarp lining the floors. “While not everyone can afford air conditioning, it is often best to have a large commercial fan at your disposal while you work.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound as he continues wandering around, touching different knickknacks, absentmindedly scenting the area in the same way he did when they first met.

Steve straightens with a smile as he thinks about it. They’ve come a long way since then. He says, “There’s even a sink to clean up.”

“Yes, Mr. Hammer and the designers reasoned that having a sink in an art studio is a blessing because you can clean up without leaving the room,” Antoinetta-Marina acknowledges. “It is easy to make a ton of mess when you are creating artwork! If you are an artist who creates sculptures, you will probably need a source of water in order to create the clay. They wanted to be prepared either way.”

“It’s perfect,” Steve agrees, eyes the stack of blank canvases of all sizes settled next to a few stands for them. “I’m sold.”

“Yay!” Antoinetta-Marina jokes, clapping her hands together in a way that gets the couple to laugh and warm to her more. “Okay, one down. One more to go.” She gestures to Tony. “You ready to see what Mr. Hammer commissioned for you?”

“I think I am,” Tony admits, putting a paintbrush back in its original holder before he follows the Beta woman out of Steve’s studio/workshop and across the hall to the opposite door. 

Antoinetta-Marina has to use her key badge to get the door to slide open, explaining, “The door is a work in progress. Mr. Hammer specifically stated that you would probably have it personally fitted for your tastes and desired security requirements. After you.”

Tony steps through first, carefully navigating down the short flight of steps and to a well-lit engineering lab/workshop outfitted with different areas for forging, welding, turning, and virtual designing. 

There’s a smart table at the epicenter that just looks like one huge tablet on four legs. 

Tony plays around with the dials and the switches until he pulls up a holographic model of the Earth, turning it this way and that way before he swipes it away. Next, he pulls up a holographic model of the Marina Towers (East and West), zooming in on different levels with the sort of giddiness he gets about him whenever he’s engineering.

Steve smiles as he watches him, while Antoinetta-Marina explains, “Mr. Hammer was very specific about how the space needed to be finished in a way that’s durable and easy on the eyes. He also pointed out that it would need to be easy to clean up, which is why we went with epoxy coated concrete floors and tiled them. As you can see, we’ve kept things light and airy, with colors that bounce the light around into every nook and cranny to eliminate shadows and make it easy to see everything quickly. We’ve also installed optional task lighting as needed, as well as wiring for - as Mr. Hammer put it - easy integration for an AI system.”

Tony looks absolutely teary-eyed. “He’s making it really hard not to love him,” he jokingly complains. He sends Steve a stern look as he adds, “Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll never let me live it down.”

Steve fake mimes zipping his lips while Antoinetta-Marina laughs.

“God,” Tony mutters as he walks around, looking like he’s experiencing absolute nirvana like a kid roaming a candy store. He picks different handheld tools at a nearby work desk to assess them before he walks away to rummage through drawers filled with different machine tools and hardware. “I’d be lying if I said that I can’t see myself down here, working to give the people what they want. Or what they think they want. Designing things that will help save the world in a sustainable way without having to punch the bad guy,” he remarks whimsically as he examines the CADCAM Design and Computer area. “Before I know it, I’ll be churning out groundbreaking tech that defines a shift in the Climate Crisis. It’s cliché — I know. Me thinking that I’m gonna be the one to make waves. I mean, it’s fine if I don’t, but - first of all, I’m a better person to be around when I spend a little time in my church - this is the kind of space where I could find my meditation. I’m keeping it. Steve, we have to live here.”

“I agree,” Steve laughs fondly.

“I am absolutely thrilled to hear you say that!” Antoinetta-Marina exclaims. “If you have time for it, we can walk down to my office and get started on the paperwork.”

“We’ve got time to spare, I think,” Tony reasons, looking at the screen of his phone to look at the digital numbers before he gives a confirming nod. “Lead the way.”

The paperwork takes a few hours to fill out and Steve can see the wisdom in Tony wanting them to arrive as early as they did. As is, once they’ve finished (move-in date set for the 1st of August), they have plenty of time to get to the ferry docks for Staten Island.

.

.

.

“ _S U R P R I S E!_ ” and then “ _HAPPY TWENTY-NINETH BIRTHDAY, STEVE!_ ”

Steve blinks as two cannons of confetti go off and when it clears, he finds himself gawking in the doorway of Peggy’s front door as all of his family and friends stand piled together dressed as characters from _Toy Story_. He can literally feel himself internally screaming in amazement.

“Please tell me someone is recording,” Tony laughs as he hugs Steve’s side.

Riley, who is dressed as Stinky Pete the Prospector and holding a fancy camcorder, says, “Every single second!”

“I want a copy, please,” Tony goes on to laugh before pinching Steve’s side.

Steve finally snaps out of his amazement, flinching. “Okay, who’s responsible for this?” he asks and there is a ripple of laughter and movement. He spends the next thirty minutes, taking pictures here and there with everyone.

From there, everyone floods into the backyard (decorated to look like Woody’s Roundup Village), while Peggy (dressed as Jessie) hands out cupcakes and ice cream to everyone while they wait for the food to finish.

Bucky is manning the grill, as he’s prone to do during these occasions, but he’s being kept company by Dora, who he is teaching (with a really handsy approach) how to properly flip a burger. Buck’s dressed as Sarge while Dora and Eddie are dressed as his Army Men.

Eddie is nearby the grill as well, shooting the breeze with Sharon (dressed as Woody) while both teens ignore the flirtatious antics of Dora and Bucky.

Sam and Miles, who are both dressed as Buzz Lightyear, are organizing the gift table with Guadelupe, who is dressed as Doll and greets Steve with kisses on both cheeks when he wanders over to socialize with them for a handful of minutes.

Hammer (dressed as Hamm) is standing between Rhodey (dressed as Slinky Dog) and Tony as he introduces the two, who seem to be warming to each other fairly quickly when Steve wanders over to greet the older Alphas. He makes a quick comment about how much he and Tony enjoyed the condo viewing, then suddenly finds himself (as well as Tony) swept up into a bear hug, and they aren’t let go until Tony complains very loudly about it.

From there, Steve leaves the three of them to go and talk to Ms. Everhart (dressed as Bo Peep), Vanko (dressed as Evil Emperor Zurg), and Happy (dressed as Wheezy). He mostly thanks them for taking the time to come out and get involved, to which they wave him off with affectionate smiles.

When he makes his way over to where the lawn chairs are being occupied by Becca and Winifred (both of them dressed as Tour Guide Barbie), he’s pretty much socialized with everyone but his Ma. 

He finds Sarah (dressed as Bullseye), chatting lively with Peggy as they both replenish the drinks and snacks. His Ma takes the time to show him a small video message that Cousin Hamish, Abbie, and Merida (as well as the Triplets) made just to give him the best well wishes. They even took the time to dress up as Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head (Cousin Hamish and Abbie), Rex (Merida) and the Squeeze Toy Aliens (the Triplets). They end the video by singing him the _Happy Birthday_ song in Irish Gaelic. 

In the midst of all this, he gets tons of compliments about his engagement ring, and he’s all too happy to explain in an obnoxious way how Tony simply _insisted,_ batting his hand with the word while the other rested against the side of his face in a lovesick way, tone all too chipper. 

Tony rolls his eyes fondly the few times he catches Steve doing it, but he never complains; his side of the bond writhes with smug candy apple reds and possessive piglet pinks.

Bucky announces that the food is ready, and everyone quickly scurries over to get their fill.

Sharon, who’s not a fan of big crowds, sits down on her swing set to watch the line thin out before she makes her move.

Steve decides to keep her company. “Yours is my favorite, chipmunk,” he says, indicating to her costume as he sits on her swing set with her. “You make a cool Sheriff Woody.”

Sharon preens as she tips her hat at him in a way that gets him to laugh. “Sarah and Uncle Tony thought you’d like it if we did things this way. I agreed. Do you like it? Were you surprised?” she asks, almost eagerly. “Did we get you good?”

Steve smiles over at her and says, “This is one of the best surprises I’ve ever gotten. Bar none. Never saw it comin’.”

Sharon takes the initiative to hug him, and Steve stands to really enjoy it since she rarely initiates physical contact. “Do you know about the baby?” she whispers in his ear, squeezing him close. “Or did I surprise you again?”

“We know about the baby,” Steve chuckles, squeezing her back affectionately. “But your Uncle Tony wants to keep that between us for now, little soldier. Think you can keep a secret?”

“Yes,” Sharon promises before pulling away. “I’m going to go and get some food now. Happy birthday, Uncle Steve. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sharon,” Steve swears, nearly teary-eyed with the honesty.

The Beta preteen shakes his hand affectionately in that way she does sometimes before she goes running off. 

Tony takes her place on the swing, handing over a plate he fetched for Steve. “And how is the Man of the Hour doing?” he asks with a playful smile before digging into his own food, swinging idly while their bond bursts with harmonious red and pink hues.

“I have no words,” Steve admits with a half-grin as he goes to town on his chili dog. “Seriously, honey. You and Ma got me good.”

Tony beams, grabbing the chain of Steve’s swing to pull him closer so he can kiss him on the cheek and wipe away a streak of chili at the corner of his mouth. “Good. You deserve it, baby,” he says with a wink before letting his swing go so he can go back to eating his salad. “Just out of curiosity, if you did know about all this beforehand, who would you have dressed as?”

“Woody,” Steve admits. “And you?”

Tony wiggles his eyebrows and says, “Sid Phillips.”

“Diabolical is what that is,” Steve laughs, knocking their knees together playfully. “I’m going to get something to drink. What do we want?”

“No, I can get it,” Tony protests immediately. “It’s your party. Just relax.”

“You relax,” Steve retorts with a smirk, already standing and handing his plate over for Tony to hold while the Omega gives him a mulish expression. “It’s my party, I’ll get drinks if I want to,” he sings. Then he adds, “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to guess.”

“That sounds like a challenge to me. Let’s see if you get it right,” Tony replies primly, batting his eyelashes like a brat with a coy grin. 

Steve leans down and kisses him before wandering off. “Challenge accepted.”

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes when Steve returns with two ginger beers. “Lucky guess,” he mumbles between bites, trading Steve’s plate for one of the cans of soda.

“No way, Sweet Pea. No luck about it,” Steve argues affectionately. “You said it yourself before - we’re connected.”

“Whatever,” Tony laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. 

The rest of the party flows seamlessly, and the gifts that he unravels from his loved ones are both thoughtful and unique.

His Ma gives him a picture from the Fourth of July where she has an arm around Tony's shoulders to press him into a big, smacking kiss she plants on his temple as Tony laughingly smiles with his eyes closed, nose scrunched adorably. The both of them are holding sparklers that illuminate their pretty features in such a breathtakingly ethereal way. The photo is beautifully framed by dark oak wood his Ma crafted with her own two hands, little rune symbols of love etched neatly into it. 

“Put it on your desk at work so you have something nice to look at it, should you get stressed,” Sarah suggests with a loving wink and Steve had firmly agreed with a wide grin.

Bucky and Sam gift him with an _original_ 24x36 HSE Classic _It's a Wonderful Life_ movie poster featuring Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed.

Sam says, “You better hang that up in your damn office too. That was _not_ easy to find, by the way.”

“Yeah, nearly lost a damn eye when I tracked it down at an auction in Portland,” Bucky goes on to jokingly complain. “Congrats, Stevie. You have the tastes of an eighty-year-old from Maine.”

Everyone has a good laugh over that and Steve is in too good of a mood to really be sore about it.

Hammer’s gift is season box tickets to the MLB that are tucked in a glove under a _signed_ baseball that has all the autographs of all the New York Met’s players. “It’s not too much is it?” he asks as they all watch Steve go bug-eyed. “I asked like six different focus groups and they all agreed -”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony groans from somewhere in the crowd, causing a ripple of laughter. “Twitter was right. You really are like this.”

Hammer laughs himself, grinning with self-deprecation as he sends the Omega a fond look and shrugs sheepishly.

Steve assures him that he loves it and that’s the end of that.

Guadelupe hands him two pans of food: one filled with her specialty lasagna, and the other with her delicious tres leches cake. Her cooking is an absolute gift, in and of itself, so Steve is definitely not complaining. 

“Aye, I need my props too!” Miles exclaims from where he’s hugging Tony from behind with his chin resting on the top of the Omega’s head. “I helped her whip all that up, so you best believe that if it slaps extra hard, that’s cause I was dipping my toes in it too.”

Steve snorts as everyone laughs at the young Alpha’s antics.

Dora and Eddie’s present comes in the form of a gift card to _The Vinyl Factory_ , the world’s foremost vinyl enterprise.

And lastly, Sharon gives him a painted canvas with an amateur rendition of Steve holding Sharon when she was baby. She says, “I found the photo with Ma’s help, and I painted it myself. What do you think, Uncle Steve? Not bad for my first time, I think. I’ve been practicing for it.”

Steve starts bawling and blubbering like a baby, startling everyone at first before they all coo and sigh as Tony quickly wanders over to comfort him, letting the Alpha tuck his wet face in the side of his neck to he can get himself together.

No one makes fun of him for it, they all know how he gets when he's really touched, never afraid to cry in front of others. In fact, all of them are smiling at him warmly as he gently thanks Sharon for her gift with a scratchy voice, accepting the tissue box she passes over to him with the widest smile he’s ever seen her wear. 

That kind of sets Steve off again, making everyone laugh with fond exasperation as the Alpha silently weeps with humble adoration. He's going to be an absolute mess when his daughter is born, he just knows it.

What really tops it all off is the cake Peggy designed, which is a picture of Steve when he was younger, costumed as Woody and sitting in his Ma’s lap, bawling his eyes out because he had just dropped one of his popsicles on the ground moments before that picture was taken.

Everyone gets a good laugh out of that while they sing happy birthday to him before urging him to make a wish.

Steve blows out the candles and smiles while everyone cheers, feeling enormously loved. 

It’s his best birthday yet.

.

.

.

Steve, Tony, and Sarah take a helicopter back to the mainlands upon the insistence of Hammer, who swears it would cut their commute by more than half the time. 

At that point, Steve was too tired to refuse, and he could see that the day was finally wearing Tony down too. He’s glad to see how right the older Alpha is because Steve swears he blinks just a few times and suddenly they’re landing on his street in front of his Ma’s house.

They say their goodbyes before quickly shuffling into the house with their arms filled with Steve’s gifts where they deposit it on the dining room table to be sorted out later.

“Night, loves,” Sarah yawns as she turns to them and give them both tender kisses on their cheeks, scenting them faintly before she wanders out of sight to retreat to her room for bed.

“Oh, man,” Tony sighs as he flops back into a nearby chair. “I'm beat.”

Steve smiles at the fact that Tony’s using one of his lines, thrilled at the idea that he’s rubbing off on his pregnant Omega. “Yeah?” He drops to a knee and helps Tony get rid of his socks of shoes. “You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t get me a gift.”

Tony playfully bops him on the top of his head with a snort. “Look who’s getting greedy,” he remarks, sliding his foot up Steve’s thigh, past his stomach and up to his chest to rest on his left shoulder. “How do you know the ring on your finger wasn’t?”

Steve lifts the foot resting on his shoulder and turns his head to press a soft kiss to the creamy skin resting over the curve of his ankle bone. “We both know that if that was a gift, it was more for _you_ than me,” he points out, purposefully letting his warm breath ghost over Tony’s ankle.

Tony shivers like Steve knew he would before the Omega scoffs and uses that foot to throw Steve off-balance, laughing at the perturbed look that gets aimed at him for it. “You think you’re so clever,” he teases with a smirk before licks at his bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment as he gazes at Steve with shameless bedroom eyes. “Yeah, alright,” he admits, perking up with renewed energy. “Go wait out in the backyard and I’ll give it to you - _not_ like that, you perv.”

Steve laughs, springing out of the way as Tony tries to pinch him. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got for me, baby doll,” he quips, holding his pretty Omega’s amused gaze as he walks backwards towards the back door.

It’s actually a really lovely night. The air is mild and the wind is both cool and soothing. Stars filled the sky like pale corn into freshly turned ground. The silver moon was high in the sky giving off the only light, apart from the lampposts in the alleyways, whose rays died inches from the dirty tungsten bulbs. 

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Tony instructs when he finally joins him. “Cup them together, yup, like that - perfect. Okay, open.”

Steve opens his eyes to the sight of a miniaturized lavender record player that fits in the middle of just one of his palms and was conveniently pocket-sized as well. It had an on and off switch on the left side while the volume and bluetooth headphone buttons were on the other side. 

“It's durable and waterproof. Also, don’t be fooled by its size. That little guy can get pretty loud,” Tony warns, watching his expression very closely. “Trust me. I tested it. I turned it as high as it could go once and walked almost three blocks from the house and could _still_ hear the music, so be careful, lamb.”

“Tony, this is amazing,” Steve promises, feeling like he’s really understating how fantastic of an invention it is. “You actually paid attention to me when I used to joke about how I wish I could carry around my record player with me.”

“Joke? Steve, you once went on a whole rant for thirty minutes about how the sound doesn’t translate as well when you have to depend on your phone for your old-timey music,” Tony generously points out with a flat look. "If that was you joking, you've got to do something about your long-winded humor."

Steve snorts and tugs Tony into an open-mouth kiss before he pulls away to ask him to show how it works.

Tony blinks for a few minutes before he snaps out of it and shows Steve just how to work his handheld record player.

Steve turns on one of his favorite songs, _Can't Take My Eyes Off of You_ , and turns it up until it fills the space of the backyard before setting it on the patio table nearby.

“Steve,” Tony says warningly, stepping back when he realizes what Steve is trying to do. “Don’t you dare -”

Steve pulls him in with a spin, letting their bodies collide gently as he hugs Tony from behind. He smiles under the glare Tony tosses over his shoulder, singing along when the lyrics get to, “ _The sight of you leaves me weak. There are no words left to speak._ ”

Tony blushes as Steve turns him so they are facing each other, dancing them around in circles.

Steve continues to sing, _“You're just too good to be true. I can't take my eyes off you._ ” before he dips Tony unexpectedly, grinning when it gets the Omega to bark out a surprised but delighted laugh.

“You’re so mushy,” Tony complains as Steve rights them but there’s no hiding his fond smile or the way his whiskey brown eyes twinkle with affection, his side of the bond bursting with only the brightest pinks and reds. 

“Totally,” Steve offhandedly agrees as he continues to spin them around. “Now sing with me. _I love you, baby_.”

“No way.”

“ _And if it's quite all right_ \- come on. Jump in anytime, honey.”

Tony laughs. “Oh, you wish. You wish, you wish!”

Steve sways closer, placing a hand to Tony’s lower back to press them closer, thigh to thigh, chest to chest, just to get his pretty Omega to blush. “ _I need you baby. To warm the lonely nights,_ ” he croons lowly, wiggling his eyebrows pointedly.

Tony throws his head back and laughs into the sky, the sound morphing into something breathless when Steve sends him in a twirl away from his body before tugging him back in so he can hold Tony from behind.

Steve sways them together gently under the moonlight and continues to sing just to watch a flush that matches Tony's soft sweater spread across his face. 

After a while, Tony stops complaining and lets himself be led, holding Steve’s gaze with something raw and full of yearning. That look seems to stop time itself, and at that moment, there was no one else on this Earth but Tony.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Steve remarks as the next song begins to play but he stops dancing just to look at Tony. “You’re always the first and the last thing on this heart of mine. No matter where I go, or what I do, I’m thinking of you.”

Tony doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, something both pleased and humbled; a happiness that spreads with a touch of shyness across his stunning face, much in the same way a spring flower opens. 

It hits Steve like winter air from the mountains, cool and fresh, while settling over his bones like sunshine that spreads without the limitations of clouds, warm and relentless.

Then the intense moment is broken by a downpour of rain that seems to come out of nowhere. 

They both startle, laughing at the suddenness of it all as big, fat raindrops batter down on them as if it means to beat the entirety of Brooklyn into the ground.

Tony tries to run indoors but Steve yanks him into a kiss, unable to resist. Blame the romantic side of him, but Steve has always wanted to share a kiss in the rain.

The water runs down their faces to where their lips meet, each of them tasting the cold drops, ignoring the chill that starts to soak into their skin while their clothes stick wetly to their frames. Instead of detracting from the intensity of the moment, it only builds the intimacy.

There is something so heavenly about sharing a kiss in the rain - a tender moment that just won't wait. It is a rebellion against the elements.

Steve breaks away, only to catch his breath as they stare at each other through the downpour with a smile. 

“If we get sick,” Tony warns playfully, pulling him in again by fisting the front of his soaked shirt with both hands. “It’s totally on you.”

Steve agrees easily, letting himself be dragged into another mind-blowing kiss that awakens his soul and makes him feel redeemed, baptized with a love that sets him free.

Tony kisses him so deeply and passionately, it almost feels like he’s trying to steal the very air from Steve’s lungs. 

Steve gets dizzy with it and he would have been happy to keep going if the need to sneeze hadn’t overpowered him, making him jerk back so he can turn his head away to do just that.

Tony laughs before he shakes his head fondly. “Okay, I-I’m calling it. W-we need to g-get indoors f-fast,” he decides as his teeth chatter.

Steve is too busy sneezing to verbally agree but doesn’t argue when his Omega drags him back into the house (making sure to grab Steve’s miniaturized record player on the way).

They take a hot shower together and dress into some sleepwear before cuddling up in bed together where they start marathoning _Rick and Morty_ while enjoying steamy cups of ginger-spiced tea.

Steve falls asleep tucked into Tony’s side and to the sensation of his pregnant Omega massaging the pads of his fingers into Steve’s scalp the same way a hairdresser would shampoo their client's hair. It’s glorious and sends him careening right into dreamland.

(Both of them awaken the next morning, happy to find that neither of them ends up sick.)

.

.

.

**TWO WEEKS LATER - AUGUST**

“Sweetheart,” Steve begs quietly, cornering Tony into their brand new kitchen for a bit of privacy while their friends and family help them move in.

Tony widens his eyes innocently, even as the edge of his mouth curls up. “What?” 

“You have _got_ to stop trying to move heavy objects,” Steve complains, rubbing a hand over his Omega's (still temporarily) flat stomach. 

Tony rolls his eyes with fond exasperation. “I swear, I didn’t think that box of pots was that heavy,” he replies, wrapping his arms around the back of Steve’s neck, gazing lovingly at him in a way he _knows_ will make Steve melt like butter. 

“Yeah, well let me be the judge of things like that until the baby comes,” Steve insists, refusing to yield on this point. And he tries to remain stern as Tony brushes their lips together with a coy grin. “I’m serious,” he whines quietly. “You don’t need to be moving stuff around. That was the whole point of inviting Bucky and Miles and Dora and Eddie and Ma and Happy to help us move in.”

“Hm, okay, I get what you’re saying,” Tony says, pulling back to press his hands together in front of him. “But don’t you think that they're going to find it weird if I’m just looking on and not helping? I mean, the ones that don’t already know are going to start to suspect something.”

“So stay in here and make like you’re getting the kitchen all sorted. No one’s going to ask questions then,” Steve suggests and sighs when Tony just ducks under his arms. “At least grab the really,  _really_ light boxes.”

“Of course,” Tony easily agrees, heading to the elevator to climb on with Bucky and Happy to go back down to the moving truck parked out on the street.

“You might as well give in to the fact that Tony’s gonna be one of them types that’s active all the way up until the end,” Miles comments as he enters the kitchen with two boxes of dishes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. My senses are like dialed to an eleven ever since I was bitten by that little arachnid shortie.”

“You’re fine.” Steve waves him off with a friendly grin. “And you’re right. It’s foolish of me to hope he won’t be as much of a busybody.” He shakes his head and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on the island counter, making a gesture to the younger Alpha that communicates he’s free to help himself to some fruit if he wanted. “How have you been?”

“Still trying to convince Parker to help out with this Queenpin situation,” Miles admits as he peels open a banana. “But he’s been training me too. So there’s the only upside to that ongoing dance. I think he's warming to me though.”

“Perseverance is key as they say,” Dora comments, her arms wrapped around a box with Steve's name on it. “Where should I put these art supplies, Steve?”

“They’ll go in my studio, I’ll take it,” Steve says, setting down his half-eaten apple to grab the box from her. 

“I’ll join you,” Eddie says as he wanders over with a similar box of art supplies. “We’re headed in the same direction anyway.”

Steve nods and they journey up to his studio, chatting idly about the latest sports gossip and forecast statistics for upcoming games. “Just put that over next to the table,” he instructs when they reach his workshop. “I’ll sort it out later.”

“Sure,” Eddie says agreeably enough, setting the box down before straightening and taking the time to explore the area with interest. 

Steve busies himself with setting most of his supplies in their dictated storage bins.

Eddie suddenly pauses by a box filled to the brim with Steve’s sketchbooks.

Steve doesn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until he hears quiet sniffling. He turns away from where he was organizing his sculpting tools to see Eddie hunched over one of his sketchbooks, shoulders shaking. He quietly walks over and crouches down next to the Omega and makes a sympathetic sound when he realizes Eddie has discovered one of the drawings he made of Peter.

Eddie’s tears are dripping onto the page.

“You miss him too, huh?” Steve asks quietly, resting a hand over one of Eddie’s trembling shoulders. 

Eddie sniffs and roughly scrubs his face dry as he snaps the sketchbook shut. “I do,” he admits hoarsely. He huffs bitterly, sniffing again while he says, “S’been driving me _nuts_. And now knowing that - that I won’t see him again until I’m old just - just really pisses me off, you know? I liked him. I thought he - but that doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it.”

“Hey, hey - hang on a minute, Eddie.” Steve stands with him, stopping him from running off. “It’s okay. You’re angry, I get it. But you should know, friendships that grow into something richer is a circle of love, not broken by a loss, but made stronger by the memories.”

Eddie sniffs as he fidgets from foot to foot. He tries to quickly wipe away the oncoming set of tears that leak from his red eyes. “I know why things turned out the way it did. Ma and Tony explained it as best as they could, and I get it, I do. But I’m still - I still feel _cheated_. Not cause I didn’t know who he was, but because I know who he will be. And you know what that means? That means he won’t even remember - he won’t remember me. Not like he did. And I gotta live with that.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, sincerely. 

Eddie smiles weakly. “Ain’t nothing you did or can do. Don’t worry about it, Steve. Like I said, I’ll get over it,” he repeats with a one-shouldered shrug. “Thanks anyway, though. For, you know, listening. Most people wouldn’t have bothered.”

“I try to be a cut above the rest,” Steve remarks wryly. “There are enough jerks in the world without me adding myself to the number.” He turns his head in time to see Bucky wander in with another box of art supplies. “Like that one there.”

“Leave me outta whatever point you’re trying to make, cause I’m sure it ain’t nothin’ flattering,” Bucky blandly replies. “Where do these go?”

Steve points and takes a moment to watch the Beta man place the box right in the area specified. “Is that the last of it?” he asks.

Bucky nods as he eyes Eddie with a concerned furrow of his brow. “Nothing but clothes left now,” he goes on to clarify as he wanders over to rest his hand on the nape of Eddie’s neck to give it a comforting squeezing. “What’s the deal? You boring my kid to tears up here?” he jokes.

Eddie flushes, preening slightly, even as he tries to play it off. “We were having a heart to heart, old man. You know, like you and the dinosaurs used to do back in the day,” he ribs and Steve laughs before he can even help it.

“Youch,” Bucky dryly retorts, clutching at his heart dramatically, but there's no mistaking the pride in his eyes. “The mouth on this one,” he complains as he ruffles the Omega’s golden hair affectionately, smile widening into something fond as Eddie grumbles with a put-upon pout. “Alright, wise guy - go down and help your Ma sort out those dishes.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re just trynna get rid of me so you guys can talk about lame adult stuff. I’m not stupid,” he says.

“Scram then, brainiac. Unless you want to hear what I got to say about your Ma’s thighs?”

Eddie makes gagging noises, quickly rushing out like he’s being chased by bees.

Steve snorts. “That was mean, even for you.”

Bucky just clucks his tongue before he pulls an unmistakable black, square box from his pocket.

Steve gasps dramatically. “James, I had no idea you felt that way about me,” he coos. "Oh, this is all so sudden. Boy, oh boy - now, I'm not saying no -"

Bucky smacks him upside the head and Steve lets him with a laugh. He says, “You’re such a pain, you know that?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” Steve replies between snickers. “Seriously, though - you’re that gone on her?”

“You don’t know the half of it, pal,” Bucky sighs as he opens the small box to reveal an impressively gorgeous ring. “I need to - there’s something I gotta do first.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve lifts his gaze from the gleaming ring to meet his best friend’s startlingly sober gaze. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I've killed,” Bucky says, point-blank, ignoring the way Steve inhales suddenly at the bluntness of his confession. “Both innocent and not. I’ve been baptized in blood and born a new creature. Now, I’m afraid of my own fucking shadow. Afraid to wake up one day and feel clean and look clean but have everyone look at me like they can still see all the blood I’ve spilled, like they can see ghosts trailing behind me, pointing their fingers at me, giving me a scarlet letter that says, ‘He’s a killer. A monster.’ and, yeah, it keeps me awake at night. It eats me alive the things I did when I was overseas, the things I was told to do. So me pissing myself, crying on the bathroom floor at night trying to scrub it away, _that’s_ me being brave. That’s me dealing with all this the best way I know how. And that’s not - it’s not good enough anymore. I want to be better than all that because that’s what Eddie and Dora deserve. They’re everything to me. I love them enough to be honest with myself about it - honest with you about it, cause I realize you ain’t gonna judge me for it.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” Steve quickly assures.

Bucky smiles sadly. “Yeah, I know, Stevie. Took me a while to remember that but, well, I found my way back to it.” He clears his throat, reaching out to put the engagement box in Steve’s hands. “So anyway, I’m gonna fly down and try that program Sam’s been pushing on me. I need you to keep this safe until I get back. She’d find it if I left it behind, and I don’t trust traveling with it. S’like asking for bad luck or something. Anyway, you’ll do me this favor, won’t you, pal?”

“Of course,” Steve softly replies. “It’s not even a question.”

Bucky nods, jamming his hands in his pockets as he fidgets.

Steve scoffs, reaching out to pull his knuckleheaded friend into a tight hug.

Bucky stiffens at first before he lets himself relax and cling to the other man with trembling shoulders. 

Despite the heaviness in Steve’s heart, and the concern gnawing at his stomach, he knows that things will be okay, only because Bucky is making the leaps and bounds to start the healing process. He squeezes the Beta man close, using the hug to communicate that he’d always be there for Bucky, no matter what.

 _I’m here_ , Steve says with his arms. _I'm with you 'til the end of the line._

 _I know_ , Bucky seems to respond in turn, hugging him back.


	36. YEAR 1: PART IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV

**TONY’S WEEKEND**

**FRIDAY**

Tony feels more warm and comfortable than he has in his entire life. His eyes flutter open, blinking slowly as he tries to gaze into the darkness of the room. He spends a moment just suspended on the peace of having an empty head, and a boatload of relaxed muscles. He sighs contently, affectionately rubbing his hand up and down the arm draped over his side where Steve’s hand is cupped against his left pec possessively. It takes a minute before he glances at the digital clock on the nightstand that has **5:00AM** showing in soft blue digital letters.

Tony really isn’t surprised. His Jellybean hasn’t only changed his eating habits, but his sleeping habits too. This kid has turned him into an ‘early riser’, something he definitely wasn’t before she was conceived. 

He sighs and stretches a bit in Steve’s arms, his legs shifting under their butter-soft sheets, making the memory foam mattress automatically adjust against the weight shift. The pillows pressed around them are like clouds. It was like sleeping on a bed of marshmallows, or something equally gooey and soft.

Then it hits Tony.

This had been their first night in their brand new condo, and it had been perfect.

After everyone had played their part in helping Tony and Steve move in, they had ordered pizza to celebrate after the final walkthrough. Then they all scurried away after giving their well-wishes and returned to their own places, leaving Tony and Steve alone to bask in the newest chapter of their lives.

Nothing really exciting happened after everyone left.

Tony and Steve had been too exhausted by the day’s events to get up to anything too intimate. A familiar pattern of the past two weeks as Tony and Steve got too embroiled with acclimating to their new positions. 

Oftentimes they met during bed with barely enough energy for small talk about how their day was, a few kisses here and there, and some halfhearted scenting until they both fell into an abyss of sleep.

Because of that, they both agreed to put in time at their jobs for a four day weekend for just the two of them, undisturbed. It was only a happy coincidence that their move-in date fell on a Thursday.

Anyway, because there is a four day weekend ahead of them, Tony has decided to claim it for the agreement they had made two weeks ago. He’s got it all mapped out in his mind, and he’s anxious to start. This is why he twists carefully in Steve’s arms to face the older man, brushing their noses together as he says, “Rise and shine.”

Steve huffs with tired exasperation, lips curling as he refuses to open his eyes but he drags Tony closer. “Any way we can push that back for two hours?” he asks quietly, his hands running up and down Tony’s sides and his back.

Tony loves how handsy and affectionate Steve gets, how obvious it is that showing his Omega love is the first thing that crosses his mind when he wakes up. It makes Tony feel desired, cherished - powerful. He stamps a few lightning-fast kisses against Steve’s soft mouth, saying, “C’mon. We can sleep when we’re dead, Steve.”

Steve laughs quietly, his body jerking with it as he hides his face against the side of Tony’s neck, mumbling, “ _Geminis_. I swear.”

“Hey!” Tony laughs, swatting the back of Steve’s head with fond amusement. “Don’t be fucking rude, _Cancer_.”

Steve snickers, rolling his hips languidly against the curve of Tony’s inner thigh, unashamedly pressing his hardening dick there, pointedly and roguish. “Oh I can be _very_ nice, honey - if you give me two more hours,” he murmurs against Tony’s collarbone.

Tony shivers through the wave of desire that washes over him before he rolls his eyes at the smirk Steve is pressing into the side of his neck, obviously thinking he’s winning here. And yes, it doesn’t take much to turn Tony on when it comes to Steve, but his brain is already oscillating between numbers and data, refusing to be ignored. “Very tempting,” he sighs, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, making a mental note to look at the label of Steve's conditioner because the Alpha's hair is so fucking soft. “But that’s going to have to wait. The blueprints in my head, however, will not. I’ll be too distracted to enjoy the things you could get up to between my thighs, anyhow.”

Steve makes a disappointed sound as his hips stutter forward a little.

“C’mon, I promise I’m worth the wait,” Tony goes on to say, tilting Steve’s head up to kiss the space between his brows with affection. “Come down to my workshop and play with me, Alpha.”

Steve makes all sorts of huffy and grumpy noises that are obviously for show but it still gets Tony to laugh incredulously as his fiancee rolls them around in the sheets with a put-upon frown. 

“Get up, you big baby!” Tony yelps as Steve bites his shoulder before rolling out of pinching range. “You weasel,” he mutters, sitting up on his elbows to watch Steve slide out of bed with a cheerful wink before he wanders off to their shared bathroom. “Just for that, you get none of the fruit smoothie blend Happy showed me how to make! And let me tell you, nothing wakes you up better than this mix! It’s my new coffee and you get _none!_ Come back out here and fight me!”

Steve’s laughing over the sound of running water.

Tony smiles to himself before he rolls out of bed to join him.

Steve’s brushing his teeth when Tony approaches their double sink. The Alpha is already holding out Tony’s toothbrush for him, knowingly.

Tony grins affectionately, accepting it, and starts brushing his own teeth before eyeing his own reflection. He uses his free hand to comb and rake it through his unkempt hair, wrinkling his nose at how he looks.

Steve snorts, spits into the sink, and says, “Stop it. You look fine.”

“Ugh,” Tony groans around his toothbrush as his face heats up. “God - you know, because it’s you, I believe you mean that.”

“Good.” Steve spits again, rinsing his toothbrush before he taps it twice against the edge of the sink. “I do mean it. You're beautiful no matter what. Drool and all.”

“Oh, shut up. There was _no_ drool!”

“Yeah there was, just there, right on your chin,” Steve insisted, miming the location on his own chin as Tony laughs in outrage. “But as I said, you're beautiful regardless.” 

“Whatever. You’re biased,” Tony says with a foamy smile. “I could walk around with a face mask made of peanut butter and a frock made of raw macaroni and you’d still want to fuck me.” 

Steve wiggles his eyebrows at Tony's reflection while he flosses, replying, “Boy, would I. You just really get me going no matter what and that’s my cross to bear.” 

Tony barks out a laugh, spraying toothpaste suds against the mirror. He swats at Steve during a terrible coughing fit because he’s choking on his own spit. “You are so fucking annoying!” he exclaims with tears of mirth in his eyes.

Steve snickers, looking way too proud of himself as he dodges Tony’s swings before leaning down to rustle through the cabinets under his side of the sink to grab a hairbrush. “Alright, alright. This is easily fixable,” he remarks, making a gesture for Tony to face the mirror.

Tony takes a moment to rinse his mouth out quickly, putting his toothbrush in the nearby holder with Steve's. He smiles to himself as he flosses his teeth while Steve brushes his hair. “Aw, Apple Pie. You’re so sweet to me,” he teases with a coy grin.

Steve just snorts distractedly, too focused on running the soft brush through Tony’s hair.

“Okay, my turn,” Tony decides once he’s done flossing. He snatches the brush from Steve, hopping on the ledge of the sink and gesturing for his Alpha to come closer.

Steve steps into the space between Tony’s knees and lets the Omega groom his hair.

There’s a sort of soft, comfortable silence that surrounds them, only broken when Tony makes thoughtful noises as he gives careful strokes through his Alpha's blonde hair while Steve sighs pleasantly under the attention with his eyes closed.

Steve opens his eyes before he huffs, taking a step back to observe Tony’s feet. “Sweetheart, you know you’ve got on mix-matched socks, right?”

Tony blinks, arm still hovering in the air from where he’s holding up the brush before he glances down. Then he wiggles his feet, taking note of the one brown and one purple sock covering his feet. “Huh.” He smiles with a shrug. “Still looks good on me. I make everything I wear look good.”

“True, but those are my socks,” Steve laughs, closing in on him again while he runs his large hands up and down the outside of Tony’s thighs for some prominent scenting.

“No,” Tony drawls affectionately as he rubs their noses together. “I warned you that if you put your socks with mine, legally, by marriage, I’m allowed to wear them. Riley told me that.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs so hard that it echoes.

“It’s not funny,” Tony says, laughing himself. “I’m dead serious. They’re on my feet, which means they're my socks.”

“So by that logic,” Steve starts after he’s managed to calm down, curling his fingers in the dip of Tony’s inner knees, using that grip to yank him forward until they are pressed as closely as possible. “Anything on you is considered yours? What about inside -”

“No, no, no!” Tony laughs as his face goes cherry red while he quickly slaps his hands over Steve’s grinning mouth to silence him. “You’re ridiculous! Do you _ever_ stop flirting?”

Steve removes Tony’s hands from his mouth to reply, “With you, baby doll? Never. Never in a million years. Never in a billion years. Never times infinity.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “See what I did there? I used math. For you. Please find me attractive.”

Tony bursts into incredulous laughter before he bodily turns Steve to face away from him so he can climb on his back. “I can not with you. Take me to the kitchen, we’re burning daylight hours. Yah, giddyup.”

“No one told me that being in a committed relationship would be like this,” Steve sighs, readjusting Tony’s weight as he trudges forward. “We should really go grocery shopping. All we have is fruit,” he points out as he carefully walks down all four flights of stairs.

Tony tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders, hugging him close to press a kiss to Steve’s temple before he says, “That’s easily taken care of.” He climbs off of Steve’s back and addresses the ceiling as he goes hunting for their blender, saying, “Hey, FRIDAY?”

“ _Boss?_ ”

“Put in an express order for groceries at the supermarket from Steve’s old neighborhood, not Sarah’s - the one before we had to shack up with Sarah. You know what we like, baby girl, so I trust you don’t need a list,” Tony instructs, still going through their cabinets. “Also, for the next - uh … let’s say eight? Nine? Maybe eleven, I like that number. That’s a good number. So yeah - for the next eleven hours, cover the costs of all the customers that show up during that time frame to do their shopping. Forward the expenses to Ms. Everhart so she can review them and give PR a head’s up, just in case it gets out and local media wants to pick up the story. I don’t want my name being tied to it though, so let’s pay it anonymously.”

“ _You got it, Boss. Engaging ‘Operation: Early Christmas’ protocols._ ”

“Thanks, FRI,” Tony laughs, tickled. “I like that by the way. Let’s keep that.”

FRIDAY sounds immensely pleased with herself as she replies, “ _Your happiness is my paradise. Blender is on the top right shelf to your left, Boss. If you need anything else, just let me know._ ” The intercoms go quiet with FRI’s exit.

Tony lets out the noise equivalent of ‘eureka’ when he _finally_ finds their blender and carries it over to the island counter to hook up. He grabs a nearby bundle of oranges and bananas, pausing in the midst of peeling them when he notices the way Steve is looking at him. “What?” he asks, fidgeting shyly. “What’s that face for?”

Steve has this expression on his face that’s like he can’t believe Tony is real, but also like Tony is the best thing since sliced bread. “You just shouldered the costs for dozens maybe even hundreds of low-income families and their groceries without even flinching,” he points out like he really needs Tony to see what a big deal that is. “That’s no small thing. I mean, that is - that’s - it’s incredibly generous is what that is.”

“I know,” Tony mutters, still fidgeting as he scratches the side of his nose shyly. “Before when, uh - before we met - I used to, you know, take that kind of thing for granted. Then I realized when you have a limited amount of money that has to go in all sorts of directions, not having to worry about your next meal or how costly it is to shovel out what you can for food is - it’s a blessing. So I guess I just don’t want to have all this money I’m sitting on and do nothing meaningful with it. If I can take the burden off of those who don’t have - who aren’t able to - I just. I wasn’t raised to be generous. I was raised to horde as much wealth and riches as my genius could afford for the purpose of _bragging_ and showing off, but that’s - that’s so fucking ugly, Steve. I can’t morally have all this money and turn a blind eye to those in need, to a world in need. I’d be no better than Obadiah or Howard or Maria.”

“That’s the thing,” Steve replies, smiling as he glows with such pride and love. “You _are_ better than they are, and you prove that everyday, every hour, every minute, and every second. Unlike them, you hold up a mirror to yourself and you’re not afraid to look at what’s there. That’s more than most people who’ve been through what you have do. It’s what makes you good, honey. It’s why you’re so precious.”

Tony can feel his face burn as familiar hotness gathers in his eyes. He swallows the emotional lump swelling up in his throat before he says, “You’re precious to me too, Steve. You help me be the best I can.” Then he shoots his Alpha a look when the moment passes. “Enough mushiness. Now that we’ve established that we’re crazy about each other, come help me skin this fruit.”

“Peel,” Steve protests as he wanders over to pick up an orange. “You say ‘peel’. Not ‘skin’. These aren’t animals.”

“Well who died and left you in charge of the English language?” Tony snarks, nose in the air as he tosses the fruit in the blender. “You can’t stand there, in _my_ kitchen, and say ‘peel’ and ‘skin’ aren’t interchangeable.”

“They aren't!” Steve laughingly exclaims. “They really are not.”

Tony snorts. “You’re one of those people who don’t like the word ‘moist’, aren’t you?”

“ _Blegh_ ,” Steve gags, doing a full-body cringe. “That word is an abomination and is banned from this kitchen. _Our_ kitchen.”

“As Head Chef, I have veto power over everything. Moist, moist, moist, moist - _ah!_ ” Tony springs out of the way when Steve tries to lunge for him.

They spend the next couple of minutes chasing each other around the island counter before they come to a truce that involves heavy open-mouthed kissing and handsy groping. 

Eventually, they get back to making smoothies.

Read: _eventually_.

.

.

.

_Erik Stevens has added you and Reed Richards to the group chat “PYOmegas … & also Richards, I guess”_

**mr-fantastic:** Charming as always, Stevens.

 **killmonger:** this man using punctuation lmao

 **mr-fantastic:** You are such a child.

 **killmonger:** dont hate me cause you ain’t me and you can’t date me 

 **mr-fantastic:** I would rather eat my own foot - no, both feet - actually.

 **killmonger:** lmao whyyyyyy??? you got a foot fetish???   
**killmonger:** see i knew yo ass was a freak

 **mr-fantastic:** Remove me from this chat if you’re just going to insult me.

 **killmonger:** nah you good richards   
**killmonger:** aint even about you   
**killmonger:** stop being so sensitive

 **youknowwhoiam:** hey if you guys are just gonna flirt keep me out of it

 **killmonger:** there he is!   
**killmonger:** finally gd   
**killmonger:** you know you can’t leave me alone with this dumb alpha   
**killmonger:** he always puts me in a mood

 **mr-fantastic:** Insensitive Omega.

 **killmonger:** yeah yeah yeah   
**killmonger:** go cry and dry your eyes with your millions of dollars

 **mr-fantastic:** How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not wealthy? My parents are wealthy! I had nothing to do with it!

**killmonger:  
  
**

**youknowwhoiam:** lmao erik   
**youknowwhoiam:** stopppppp

 **killmonger:** nah cause if i don’t check him, who gone do it?   
**killmonger:** trynna do his privileged ass a favor but aight continue to be ignorant

 **mr-fantastic:** I thought it wasn’t about me…

 **killmonger:** bet   
**killmonger:** drop your location richards   
**killmonger:** i just wanna talk

 **mr-fantastic:** Why? That would be pointless since we all intern in the same department. You could find me very easily. I’m not hiding.

 **youknowwhoiam:** the sexual tension between you two is getting ridiculous now   
**youknowwhoiam:** why must i be bothered on my time off?

 **killmonger:** ay see that’s the thing right there!   
**killmonger:** who said you could take a four day weekend???

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol erik you know this is the weekend i’m moving into my new place   
  
**killmonger:** yeah but i aint sign off on that and you like the only other person i like here

 **mr-fantastic:** Uh, ouch?

 **killmonger:** aint about you richards   
**killmonger:** also how you got the nerve to do it when it’s the busiest weekend yet, tony???

 **mr-fantastic:** Not that I enjoy agreeing with Stevens, but he’s correct. Dr. Richards is pushing the launch of our sustainable washing machines to resolve the contract we made with Target and it’s fellow subsidiaries. It’s the biggest project ever given to a group of interns and I don’t know about you two, but I won’t be responsible for any misfires or product recalls. As is, I work better with you two than any of the others.

 **killmonger:** i don’t know what you stressing for when ya mom’s the head of the department   
**killmonger:** you got a guaranteed spot when she retires

 **mr-fantastic:** Stevens, I’ve already told you. I got this internship with Hammer Industries based on merit and credentials, just like all the other 50 applicants who earned their spot. And Dr. Richards may be my mother, but she’s not the one who will be selecting the interns who have earned a full-time position. If we don’t get our project greenlit, then we’ll be eliminated just like the last pool of people were. She decides who goes, not who stays. That’s going to be up to the new Department Lead, whoever he or she is. 

 **killmonger:** do you call your mom’s ‘dr richards’ even when ya’ll at home?   
**killmonger:** cause i may be a poor orphan from oakland   
**killmonger:** but even i think that is   
**killmonger:** just

 **mr-fantastic:** Keep your pity, Stevens. It’s unwanted and unneeded.   
**mr-fantastic:** Tony, are you able to review the blueprints for the prototype we’ve been working on? You have an eye for details, and I really believe the three of us can win the election and get it approved for distribution. It would keep us out of the red for sure.

 **killmonger:** as much as it eats my soul to agree with richards, he’s right   
**killmonger:** and i aint come all this way from cali just to go back empty-handed

 **youknowwhoiam:** forward me the schematics and i’ll take a look   
**youknowwhoiam:** are we doing Model V or Model VIII?

 **killmonger:** model v

 **mr-fantastic:** Model VIII.

 **killmonger:** what, and i can’t stress this enough, the fuck?

 **mr-fantastic:** You can’t be serious. Model V is a piece of junk! It hardly passed the first rounds of testing!

 **killmonger:** bet   
**killmonger:** drop your location richards   
**killmonger:** i just wanna talk

 **youknowwhoiam:** oh boy, here we go   
**youknowwhoiam:** this is model i - iv all over again

.

.

.

“What’s so funny?” Steve asks as he sits at Tony’s CADCAM Design and Computer area with Tony in his lap.

“Reed and Erik are at it again,” Tony snickers, handing his phone over so Steve can read the heated exchange between his coworkers, while he goes back to coding the robotic arm the two of them have been working on for the past three hours. He’s giving Steve a crash course in robotics, and his Alpha, as always, takes to the lessons like a fish in water, picking up even the smallest nuances easily. It’s giving Tony a certain thrill to know that they are about to build something together. “I don’t know why they just don’t bang each other and get it over with. They’ve been like that ever since I met them. I mean, I appreciate the fact that they were the only two to take me under their wings when I showed up out of the blue to fill the last internship spot for my department. All the other interns were very rude, self-entitled Alphas that were very transparent about their thoughts on Omega interns. Erik’s suffered worse than me before Reed started taking up for both of us as an Alpha.”

“I still find it interesting that no one in the company besides Hammer and Ms. Everhart knows who you are,” Steve remarks with audible amusement, handing Tony his phone when he’s done glancing at the growing number of messages. “Not even your new bodyguard slash PA has any idea.”

“She’s doing an amazing job, nonetheless. Or so Ms. Everhart tells me.” Tony shrugs as he types out the last bit of code. “I just - I want to enjoy being anonymous while I still can. It’s nice seeing everyone’s true colors before they try and trick their way into my good graces. I’m familiar with how those sort of things goes. They won’t really see me, they’ll just see my connections, that I’m next in line to inherit the company, and there won't be a genuine bone in their bodies when they interact with me.”

“You’re more than that,” Steve protests, rubbing his hands up and down the outside of Tony’s arms.

“Well, I know that,” Tony huffs, continuing his typing, even as he melts a little under Steve’s comforting caresses. “But the thing is, when it comes to high society, there are all these rules and rituals. People aren’t as sincere or well-meaning as they pretend to be. When my adoption goes public, I’ll have to be very cautious about people’s intentions.”

“Is it really that bad?” Steve’s brow is furrowed with wonder when Tony glances over his shoulder at him.

“If not worse,” Tony agrees before turning his attention forward to the multiple screens of his CADCAM Design and Computer area, flashing with data and lines of code. “You met Obadiah. So pretty much imagine that, but a whole room of him - different genders and different ages. People like Hammer or Dora or Riley are anomalies, to tell you the truth. One in a million. I’m sorry that you’ll find that out pretty quickly when we get shoved in the limelight.”

“Yeah? I’m not sorry,” Steve simply replies, hugging Tony from behind and resting his forehead between Tony’s shoulder blades. “Ain’t nothing anyone can say or do to me that’d make me regret knowing _you_ , Sweet Pea. At the end of the day, I’m always coming home to you, and now to Jellybean.”

Tony smiles when his Alpha presses a warm hand to his lower stomach where their daughter lies in wait, growing, day by day. “Sap,” he teases but grabs one of Steve’s hands to kiss the knuckles, grazing his lips over his engagement ring before pats that hand to get Steve’s attention. “Okay, you see this here?”

Steve lifts his head, straightening as he peers over Tony’s shoulder to look at where the Omega is pointing at one of the upper left screens. He nods.

“Remember the first thing we talked about when we got down here?” Tony stands and walks over to his SMART touchscreen table to pull up the holographic blueprints for the robotic arm they have been formulating. “About the servo motors?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, standing beside him as he carefully turns the hologram this way and that. “Servo motors are excessively used when there is a need for accurate shaft movement or position. You mentioned that these aren’t suggested for high-speed applications.”

“Exactly!” Tony beams, excited and giddy. “Servo motors are proposed for low speed, medium torque, and accurate position application. So these motors are best for designing a robotic arm. We’ve got the coding out of the way for what we would like the arm to do, how we want it to function, you know, so on and so forth. What’s the next thing?”

Steve takes a moment to think while Tony watches him do so with eager anticipation. His Alpha seems to think and think and think over his next words carefully. “If I answer accurately, can we take a food break?” he asks instead.

Tony rolls his eyes with a smile. “FRI?”

“ _Boss?_ ”

“Do me a favor and locate a local restaurant with the highest rating for breakfast food and order the most popular items. I’ll pay extra for quickness, so put that out there. Thank you.”

“ _You got it._ ” 

Tony gives Steve a pointed look and rolls his eyes when Steve slaps a hand over his own heart while he feigns looking absolutely touched by the consideration.

“You take care of me so well,” Steve coos, pinching at Tony’s cheeks until the Omega slaps his hands away with audible complaints. “Right, so - you asked me what’s next. From how you explained it, I think we need to ... start building a circuit diagram so we have a map of how we want everything to connect? React? Function?”

“Got it in one, that’s right,” Tony confirms as he starts grabbing supplies. He pulls over his mobile whiteboard, handing Steve a marker so he can start sketching out the circuit diagram. He overlooks Steve’s work and makes necessary corrections where needed. “In our robot’s hand circuit, we need to be especially careful to pay attention to the references concerning voltage to the default, so we can read value from ADC channel by directly calling function -” He pauses to scribble out _analogRead(pin)_ where it needs correcting. “- _here_ since ‘pin’ represents pin - I know that sounds redundant, but I promise this will make sense in a second so bare with me - and it’s where we want to connect the analog signal so that the value from ADC can be stored into an integer as -” 

Steve’s already scribbling out ‘ _int SENSORVALUE0 = analogRead(A0)_ ’ before Tony’s even done speaking. “It’s that one, right?”

“Whoa, my Alpha is a fucking genius!” Tony exclaims, cheering obnoxiously as Steve goes red with the praise, trying to downplay it. “Nope. No way. This isn’t dumb luck. You are wildly smart. Your mind is like a sponge, Steve. It must have been thirsty for a while. Poor thing. But don’t worry. I’m going to help with that. Let’s talk about the tools we need to use now that we got the map out of the way.”

For hours, they continue playing around with schematics before they are confident that they can start the actual building, only pausing between all of this for food and bathroom breaks (but also sometimes for kisses and hugs, and those times, hands down, are by far Tony’s favorite). 

Tony’s workshop is his sanctuary, his church, his high-tech nest; and so having Steve there, enjoying it with him, _building_ with him, is unlike anything he’s ever felt or knew he could feel. It’s a sense of rightness and serenity that he wishes he could bottle up and keep forever. 

And when all the work is complete, when they are covered from head to toe in motor oil, and the smallest amount of burns on the inner palms of their hands, grinning deviously (giddily) at each other over what they have managed to create by the time midnight hits, it becomes the best feeling in the world.

“We should give it a name,” Steve decides as he leans against Tony tiredly while they both watch the robotic arm move around Tony’s workshop with inquisitive beeps, picking things up with its claw and setting it in the wrong area. “Got any ideas?”

“You created him, you name him,” Tony reasons with a shrug as he hugs Steve’s side, pressing his nose against one of his more prominent scent glands on the side of his neck with a deep inhale.

“ _We_ created him,” Steve corrects, and then gives a thoughtful pause. “So it’s a he, then?”

Tony nods wordlessly against the side of Steve’s neck.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, combing his fingers through Tony’s messy hair. “Name him and then let’s go to bed.”

Tony hums before pulling away to watch their robotic arm pick up a blowtorch and tries to use it on a trash can. “Ah, ah, ah! No! That’s the opposite of a fire extinguisher, DUM-E!” He looks at DUM-E sternly while he keeps the blowtorch out of his reach, and he gets sassy and indignant beeping for his efforts. “Okay, clearly your father and I didn’t spend enough time on your coding. You’re on a timeout. Workshop privileges have been revoked until we can sort out your destructive tendencies. Say it with me: we put _out_ fires, we do not _create_ them.”

DUM-E clicks and whirrs indignantly before rolling over to his charging station.

“The absolute nerve.” Tony locks up his blowtorch just as a precaution when Steve snickers fondly. “It’s not funny, Steve. Your first bot and he’s evil - go figure.”

“I don’t think he’s evil, Tony. Be nice. He’s curious,” Steve argues, wondering over to pet DUM-E, smiling when the clawed hand reaches up to stroke at his hair affectionately. “See that? Total sweetheart. DUM-E clearly hasn’t developed a good moral compass yet. That’s fixable when it comes to a learning machine.”

“Stop using the knowledge I gave you against me,” Tony grumbles as he crosses his arms, but the corners of his mouth are twitching fondly as he watches them get affectionate with each other. 

“Be nice, he’s just a baby. Come say goodnight,” Steve urges, waving him over. “And do you have to call him Dummy? That’s rude.”

“D-U-M-E, Steve. DUM-E. Dynamic Unit that Monitors Ergonomics. DUM-E. See? I’m not being mean. We built him to be a helper,” Tony explains as he closes in on said bot with a stern look. “You hear that, butterfingers? You were engineered by us to create an environment that is well-suited to a human’s physical needs and limitations.”

DUM-E chirps curiously at that, reaching up to pat Tony on the head like _he’s_ the one that’s only a few hours old.

Tony scoffs, unwillingly charmed and pets him back, smiling in amusement as DUM-E whirrs and beeps happily. “Yeah, okay. I guess you’re not so bad. Maybe Steve is right about you needing extra help with learning right from wrong. Hey, FRI?”

“ _Boss?_ ”

“You ready to be the best big sister in the world?”

FRIDAY replies from the ceiling intercoms, “ _Absolutely. As long as I get a shiny gold plaque put on the wall somewhere for all to see._ ”

Steve laughs while Tony rolls his eyes with a playful grin. “Who taught you how to negotiate, baby girl?”

“ _I simply learned from watching two of the best negotiators I’ve ever encountered_ ,” FRIDAY quips with pointed amusement. 

“Sweet-talker, isn’t she?” Steve remarks, accepting the clumsy hug DUM-E tries to give him very easily. 

Tony merely hums in agreement before he replies, “If you run through a few tutorials with DUM-E, teach him right from wrong, up from down, that sorta thing - you can order yourself the gaudiest plaque you can find and put whatever you want on it. Make sure it’s got magnets so I can stick it to the fridge, the highest place of honor we got in this joint.”

“ _Deal_ ,” FRIDAY agrees with good cheer and that’s pretty much that. 

Tony has just enough energy to follow Steve up to their room so they can shower off the day before sliding into bed. 

Pressed close, with Tony as the big spoon this time, they’re asleep within minutes.

.

.

.

 **killmonger:** hey friendo   
**killmonger:** when u done gettin ya back blown tf out   
**killmonger:** come join richards and i for the internship karaoke bs cause we trynna see our coworkers get lit and make an ass of themselves in front of dr richards   
**killmonger:** ay n bring ya bae bc i wanna see the alpha that be letting you talk all the shit lbvs   
**killmonger:** sidekicks on 45th @ 930pm

.

.

.

**SATURDAY**

Tony is woken only _two hours_ after falling asleep to the sensation of butterfly kisses being pressed to both of his eyelids. His first instinct is to snap his teeth playfully. He mumbles, “What time is it?”

“Little after three.”

“Three? I’m sorry, did you just say _three?_ Like in the _morning?_ ” Tony refuses to open his eyes just on principle, scowling when Steve snickers against his temple. “Is this payback for yesterday?”

“Of course not,” Steve swears before he presses a firm but gentle kiss against his mouth, sweeping his hands up and down Tony’s back in a way that makes a wave of powerful desire shiver right through him. 

Tony inhales sharply, letting his mouth fall open with a shaky whimper.

Frustratingly enough, Steve doesn’t deepen it. He pulls away to rub their noses together affectionately. He says, “There’s a meteor shower that’s gonna happen in about ten minutes for an entire hour. Generously enough, Mayor Queenpin has -” He pauses to laugh. “Yeah, I know how much you love her, your face says it all. But she’s agreed to partner with the local power plants to reduce the glare of the city’s lights by at least sixty-five percent. So everyone can watch the, I think they call it the, uh, the -”

Tony opens his eyes with a fondly amused grin, taking pity on him by saying, “The Fall of Icarus.” He reaches up and presses a hand to the side of Steve’s face as he drinks in the sight of his Alpha hovering over him so closely. He strokes his thumb under Steve’s eye as if he were wiping away an invisible tear. “Scientists believe that the meteor shower will emulate the tragic story just as it was recited by bards of long ago.”

“Oh, so you know about this?” Steve sounds a little put-out. 

“I know everything. I can't help it. Kidding! Stop looking at me like that. It’s your own fault, by the way. I’ve caught you reading articles about it like a hundred times,” Tony laughs as Steve huffs. “I never said anything because you never said anything. Figured you were embarrassed about being super into astronomy. I know you don’t think I know about how you like to take those zodiac tests on Buzzfeed.”

Steve’s face explodes with color. He stammers, “I - that - ah.” He pauses and tries to regroup while clearing his throat and Tony waits him out with smug humor. “I have a legitimate reason for doing that.” He adds, “It’s Bucky’s fault. He got me and Sam wrapped up in that nonsense. Becca showed him how to do his star chart _one time_ and now it’s _rising sign_ this and _the pattern app_ that. You should download that by the way, it’s pretty accurate, even I can acknowledge that as a nonbeliever.”

Tony laughs like a shotgun, curling in on himself. He has literal tears forming as he chokes out, “You - you fucking _liar!_ You are - a _total_ be-believer - oh my _god!_ ”

Steve immediately protests, voice shaky with mirth, “No way, honey! No way! I’m just being a good friend, is all. Sharing interests and whatnot with my longtime pal. He’d do the same. That’s loyalty, is all that is.”

“Fuck off, I’m not buying it!” Tony laughs and squeals when Steve starts retaliating by tickling him and demanding he take it back. “We - we’re gonna - gonna miss the - the light - light _show!_ ” he yelps between swells of laughter, writhing like a worm under the assault.

Steve doesn’t let up for a few more minutes and then, because the jerk hasn’t winded Tony enough, sweeps him up into a biting kiss that makes Tony breathless and lightheaded. Then he cuts it off abruptly to yank Tony out of bed and towards the private balcony attached to their bedroom.

What Tony sees next makes him freeze like a deer-in-headlights.

Steve made him a - he made him a - a _nest._

His Alpha made him a gorgeous fucking nest with a mound of throw pillows and blankets; some made of butter-soft silk and others of sherpa wool. There are decorative lights artfully lining the balcony railing, giving a warm glow all around to the area. 

Under the starry sky surrounding a huge, Full Moon, it’s the most romantic thing Tony’s ever seen. He’s speechless.

Steve is downright preening at his silence, half-grin and all, as he lifts a finger to motion for Tony to join him where he’s sitting.

Tony does in a bit of a daze, climbing into Steve’s lap as he continues glancing around, wordlessly stunned.

Steve waits him out patiently, rubbing his large hands up and down the outside of Tony’s thighs. “What do you think? It’s the first time I made a nest for an Omega. FRIDAY helped me with the research, but they all basically said the same thing,” he admits. “As long as you know your Omega, you’ll know how to make them comfortable, and I think I know you pretty well. So.”

Tony finally catches Steve’s gaze and says, “It’s perfect. Steve, it’s - it’s _perfect_. How did you - how did you get it to smell like us?”

“Ah, well.” Steve flushes slightly. “I may have been slowly swapping our blankets and pillows out over the past two weeks?”

Tony sincerely hadn’t caught on to it. “So, there are some things you can do without me noticing,” he teases with a grin that Steve rolls his eyes. “You really are just a mushy, romantic goof, aren't you? Spending all that time going through all this preparation just so we can watch a meteor shower together.”

“Oh, that’s all for you, honey,” Steve replies, voice deceptively light while he gently massages the globes of Tony’s ass. “What's your safeword?"

Tony's mind kind of bluescreens at the question but he responds, on instinct alone, " _French Toast_."

 _"_ Good. That's good," Steve praises. "Use it when you need it at any point, okay? And enjoy the meteor shower. I’m going to be too busy eating you out and fucking you to really pay attention. You’ll have to watch it for both of us.”

Tony can feel his face heat up and he gets so overwhelming turned on by the dark promise that he barely has time before Steve is clamping his teeth over the dip of where shoulder meets neck. He gasps as Steve tongues roughly at the scent-gland there, his most sensitive one, with such confident precision that Tony’s mind goes blank under the white-hot pleasure that claws ruthlessly into his body. He hiccups through a startled moan while his gut tightens up as he clenches over nothing once, twice, _three times_ before he begins to positively gush with slick. 

Steve pulls back to eye his handiwork with the assessing gaze of an artist appreciating their own creation. He shifts his hands up and over the top of Tony’s thighs, pressing his thumbs down like he’s testing the firmness of the muscle there as they tremble uncontrollably. “You need to be looking _up_ , baby doll,” he rumbles in a way that makes Tony’s thighs shake even harder while his underwear starts getting soaked. “Be a good little Omega and keep those gorgeous eyes on the sky. Let your romantic, mushy Alpha take care of you. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?”

Tony can’t even think, can’t even speak. The way his body feels is all he knows, the way Steve is touching him, talking to him. He feels the heat of his Alpha's presence burning through the thin layer of his nightclothes. He feels the soft, measured breaths fanning over the bottom lip he’s biting in desperation while he squirms in Steve’s lap. He can’t be still, his nerves are tingling under his skin, and deep ravenous hunger is all he is at that moment.

“Two weeks without being inside of you or you inside of me should be a galaxy-wide crime, Tony,” Steve goes on to say, reaching up to gently thumb Tony’s bottom lip free from the prison of his teeth. 

Tony gets dizzy when Steve lets out a barely audible growl, rumbling deep in his chest. God, there’s no way his underwear isn’t ruined right now. He’s aching so bad for his Alpha and he’s not even in Heat.

“You know better, don’t you, Sweet Pea?” Steve rebukes with benevolent amusement, grinning, slow and syrupy. “That’s mine.”

Tony whines, squirming over Steve’s dick, cursing the layers they have on because although it feels good to grind down against that hardness, it’s simply _not enough_. "Alpha. Alpha _please_ ," he chokes out, grinding down until he can feel himself spasm the same moment Steve’s cock twitches under him. 

Steve groans, quickly lowering the hand that was caressing Tony’s mouth to wrap around Tony's neck instead, stilling him abruptly. Steve doesn't do anything else - there's no pressure, not even a quiver - just cups Tony’s neck with gentle firmness, like a True Alpha and the Omega's mind goes white with submission. 

Tony lets out a strangled whimper when his eyes meets Steve’s confidently stern gaze, and Tony knows his face is red, knows he’s panting like some sort of slut, but the hot shame of it is still not enough to keep another gush of wetness from leaking out. God, he wants Steve’s cock so bad, feels like he’s gagging for it - _dying for it_.

It's a strange feeling, letting his Omega instincts overtake him, but he loves Steve so much, trusts him so much, _loves_ him so much that it doesn’t scare him. All his nerves are tingling like there’s static under his skin, and he's never been so conscious of it. He's losing control, not even thinking twice as he widens his thighs with another desperate whimper. He's so wet already and he's barely been touched.

“I know what you need,” Steve coos softly like it’s their secret, while he helps them both get undressed. He lowers Tony carefully onto his back against the blankets and pillows, ducking down so that Tony has a perfect view of the starry night. “Keep your eyes on the sky, sweetheart.”

The meteor shower has long since begun but Tony hadn’t even noticed until just then.

The debris from the comet is ablaze in the sky, a brilliant streak of white tinged blue that rains like winks of sparkling light - a dash of glitter on the velvet sky - and moves like a savored dream created like freshly spun candy.

Tony exhales in awe of it, distracted, enthralled, and mesmerized.

Steve uses that to his advantage, closing his mouth over the bud of Tony’s left nipple while he uses his free hand to pinch the other, rolling his hips forward in a slow grind that makes Tony’s eyes roll back in his head. “Eyes open, baby doll,” he warns, pinching Tony’s inner thigh gently.

Tony whines as his eyes snap open and he stares unseeingly up at the beautiful, glimmering meteor shower. He tries to be good, trying not to squirm impatiently as Steve uses his talented, hot mouth to mark a slow path down his body to where he needs it most.

It's unbearable, the waiting, letting his Alpha take his time. 

He squirms again and nearly cums when Steve’s hand springs up to settle around his throat again, pressing into his most sensitive scent-glands, just to keep him still with a warning growl. 

Tony just wants to be filled, for that horrible aching emptiness to go away. He wraps both of his trembling hands around Steve’s forearm and his wrist, keeping his hand right where it is against his throat. He rasps out some variant of _please, fuck, I can’t take it, Alpha, fuck, need you_ with a choked off breath. 

Steve cuts off the ranting by kissing him roughly, teeth and tongue, until Tony’s mouth aches pleasantly with the aggression. He invades the Omega’s mouth, conquers it, fucking his tongue in until Tony’s forced to submit, shaky thighs widening as he whines pleadingly. He pulls back, sounding just as breathless as Tony feels, saying, “Eyes open, baby doll.”

Tony aches at the command, absolutely drunk with his desire. His eyelids feel like they have tiny anchors weighing them down but he presses through it, wanting to please his Alpha. 

“There you go, good boy,” Steve praises, sounding proud in a way that makes Tony squirm as it warms him all over. “Stay still,” he urges, stroking his thumb over Tony’s bobbing Adam’s apple soothingly and Tony finds himself sinking deeper into submission. “Yeah, just like that. There you go.”

Tony makes a weak sound as Steve slinks down his body with the grace of a stalking jungle cat, using his large hands to rearrange Tony’s legs, spreading them until his knees are pressed back against his own chest.

“Look how pretty you are,” Steve coos in a way that makes Tony’s face go cherry red because his body spasms with the compliment and that means Steve _saw_ it happen. “Christ, I can’t believe you’re really mine. That I get to have all this with you. You’ve given me a home and you’re taking my last name again. You’re even giving me a baby. Keep watching the sky for me, sweetheart. I need you to understand how you make me feel.”

 _But I do! I really do because it’s the same way for me!_ Tony wants to say but he’s too busy exhaling shakily as Steve delivers a particularly messy and lewd, open-mouth kiss to his hole. His hands fly down to fist into Steve’s blond hair as his back instinctively arches with the zap of pleasure that makes him roll his hips down onto Steve’s greedy tongue. 

Steve groans as he shamelessly sinks his tongue deeper and deeper while Tony starts spasming around the talented appendage. He's pressing inward, deeper and deeper, until Tony trembles uncontrollably all over.

Tony is going to cum. He’s going to cum so fucking hard and he can’t even speak to warn Steve about it. He chokes, and gasps, curling in on himself as the feeling quakes though him.

Steve must know because he presses in as deep as his tongue can go before cracking a hand over Tony’s left ass cheek and suddenly Tony’s cumming with an indignant, startled yelp that's so loud that there’s no way the neighbors hadn’t heard.

Tony is too blissed out to feel any proper shame about it. His orgasm devours every thought, his every nerve-ending, and makes him float outside of his body. The intensity doesn’t falter for a long time, rising up in waves, higher and higher, until Tony feels like he’s up in the sky with the meteor shower. 

Steve’s saying something, praising him, and then kissing him as he wraps his hand around his throat to help him feel steady while Tony’s chest heaves.

Tony already feels lightheaded but he’s quick to wrap both his hands around the wrist of the hand Steve’s got him pinned with just to make sure Steve keeps it there, widening his thighs to invite his Alpha closer. The hand on his neck squeezes just a little and Tony’s gurgling out a wrecked moan as Steve sinks his cock inside with one, long, stroke that makes Tony’s toes curl while his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Eyes open,” Steve grits out, mouth panting against Tony’s right ear. “C’mon, baby doll, you’re doing so well. Christ, you feel amazing. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

The noises Tony’s making is shrill and strident, he knows, but he can’t help it. His Alpha is delivering deep and powerful strokes that make his entire legs shake, and the soft dominance Steve is asserting is such a fucking turn on, satisfying all those little Omega cravings he never lets himself talk about, never let himself think about due to years of deeply ingrained sexual repression.

Yet here Steve is, knowing how to read Tony’s body language perfectly, knowing how to get his Omega to cum on his tongue in a matter of minutes when most Alphas even refuse to go down on their Omegas. But not Steve, of course not his Alpha, who has an absolute oral fixation when it comes to Tony. He spoils Tony, not only with good dick but love and affection, always putting Tony’s needs first before his own. 

And also unlike most Alphas, Steve thinks of them as _equals_.

Oh fuck, Tony’s going to cum again just from that thought alone. He finds himself squirming as tears gather in the corner of his eyes at how savagely good it feels to have his fiance spearing him open with his wonderfully thick cock while the sky is alight with sparkling, ethereal blues and whites, getting fucked within an inch of his life for merely existing. Yup, he’s definitely cumming again.

Tony’s head slams back against the pillows under him, mouth falling open as the shout that leaves his throat sounds strangled and absolutely _wrecked_. He feels absolutely wrecked as spots start dancing in his vision and it only gets worse when Steve just fucks him right through it, not pausing for a second to let Tony catch his breath.

“Wow look at you go, honey,” Steve pants, sounding so ridiculously proud that Tony shakes while his bones turn to goo, his body on fire with pleasure. “That’s it, that’s it. Fuck, you feel so good. Come on, that’s it. Yeah, just like that, fuck. You gonna cum again? Go on, I know you can do it. Cum on my cock again, baby doll.”

Tony cries out breathlessly, raspy and wheezing as Steve quickens his strokes, fucking in deep until he’s bullying Tony’s prostate. “ _Oh god_ \- oh fuck - fuck - _oh f_ _uck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu -_ ” His chanting is cut off by an unexpected scream, and he tries to quickly slap his hands over his mouth to stifle the noise as he’s fucked right into his next orgasm. It feels so good that it’s nearly painful. Even breathing feels great, like his whole body is humming with satisfaction.

Steve. Doesn’t. Stop.

“I can’t,” Tony chokes from behind his hands, shaking his head rapidly in denial, even as the feel of pleasure doesn’t stop cresting, doesn’t falter, doesn’t slow down, just like Steve’s thrusts. Tears gather and pool in his eyes as he feels himself tighten up again while he’s getting split open by the toe-curling precision of his Alpha’s thrusts. “ _Oh my god, I can’t!_ ” he chokes as his thighs start to quake.

“You can,” Steve pants confidently, hair stuck wetly to his forehead, face red with the exertion of each stroke. He looks like he’s going to pass out but he seems determined about getting Tony to cum again. “I know you can, just one more for me. I’ll even knot you when you do.”

“ _Oh fuck you!_ ” Tony laughingly cuts himself with a yelp as he cums again off of that promise alone just like Steve probably knew he would, the deviant little shit. He contracts around Steve, milking the Alpha’s own orgasm, purring when he feels the wonderful pressure of Steve's knot swelling and expanding inside of him. 

Steve freezes and impales him as deep as he can, riding out his orgasms until he’s a trembling, sobbing mess that Tony is quick to gather in his arms. It’s a while before he can calm down, and even longer before he comes down from how overpoweringly raw knotting always makes him.

Tony’s leaning up with his temple resting propped against the knuckles of his hand, watching and waiting for Steve to become lucid from where he has them lying on their sides. 

The meteor shower ended thirty minutes ago but Steve’s knot hasn’t gone down yet.

Tony is utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but he needs to be sure that Steve is okay, no matter how badly he wants to pass out.

Steve reels him in during one particularly lucid moment after his knot finally goes down by the time the sun begins bleeding reds and oranges along the horizon. He kisses Tony weakly and mumbles, “Love you.”

Tony relaxes with a tired smile, sighing as he curls into Steve’s side when the Alpha carefully separates them below the waist.

Sleep is an endless vacuum that ensares Tony at the first sign of weakness, sucking him into a bottomless pit of blackness he free falls through.

.

.

.

 **Alfonso’s Alterations & Tailor Shop ** is a gleaming shop that’s nestled where foot traffic is the heaviest on Fifth Avenue and was renowned for its immaculate craftsmanship amongst high society. Anyone who was anyone at least owned one suit or dress from _Alfonso’s,_ specially tailored and altered to fit like a decadent second skin on the body. Although the owner was a bit prickly and short-tempered (horrible bedside manner), there was no denying how much the end result was worth enduring the judgemental ire the Alpha running the joint.

“Let me go in first,” Tony suggests as he and Steve sit in the back of their luxury car with Happy at the helm. “Isabella Sofia Alfonso the Fifth is - she’s very particular. When she’s sweet, she’s really sweet. But if you piss her off, or if she doesn’t approve of you - well, I think you can guess. But her work is flawless and irreproachable. She’s been dressing me since I was two years old, even though she  _despises_ my parents. But the first time she designed a suit for me was as a favor to Jarvis. Weirdest thing. Apparently they went to primary school together back in the day or something. Anyway, she adores Jarvis, and because Jarvis has a soft spot for me, Isabella adores me too. Well enough to ignore my last name, and the vow she made that she’d never waste even her clumsiest thread and needlework on a Stark.”

Steve listens to this all with unsurprised amusement. “You think there’s a chance she won’t like me?” he asks, not sounding particularly concerned, just curious.

Tony shoots him a look because Steve obviously doesn’t understand what a big deal this is. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Rogers, that going toe to toe with Isabella is like playing chess with a _master_ while blindfolded. She can take one like at you and know the very thing you're self-conscious about and poke right at it.”

Steve raises his hands to show that he’s harmless.

Tony rolls his eyes and huffs. He says, “I’m going in first. Then I’ll text you when it’s safe to come in.” He takes a moment to primp himself, hastily combing his fingers through his hair before straightening his shoulders. He nods at Happy, who climbs out to open the door for him. “Give me ten minutes,” he says to the both of them as he climbs out and quickly makes his way through the entrance.

The shop’s bell announces him.

“ _Antonio!_ ” Isabella croons in Italian from where she’s standing behind the register, swiping through her tablet quickly, probably to see if he’d booked an appointment without her noticing. The dark-skinned Alpha is dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit with a bow-tie, her silver-white hair chopped into an exotic pixie-cut style. “ _My heart. My precious jewel. My divine inspiration. Did I know you were coming? I see nothing here. You know I like to close the shop just for you when you want a visit. Why did you not phone ahead, Bambino?_ ”

Tony smiles sheepishly as he replies in kind, “ _Maybe I’ve missed you. I heard that you are retiring and leaving the care of your shop to your nephew._ ”

 _“Yes, that is true,”_ Isabella confirms vaguely with a stiff upper lip. 

“ _Also, I may need your help catfishing the rival CEO of the company I work for_ ,” Tony adds in a rush. 

Isabella scoffs, generously amused rather than annoyed. “ _Ah, so this is a double-sided visit._ ” She tsks. “ _I don’t know, Antonio. What do I get out of this?”_

“ _Always a capitalist at heart, through and through_ ,” Tony laughs as Isabella rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. “ _You always were the best at reading people, and I trust your judgment. I need you to sit with Tiberius Stone for lunch and tell me what you think. He thinks you want to design a suit for him, and he has a thing for Alphas in particular. In exchange, when my adoption goes public, I’ll wear whatever your nephew designs. What better introduction could he hope for? It would put him on the map - internationally._ ”

“ _What an arrogant boast to make, Bambino,_ ” Isabella replies with an exasperated smirk. “ _You’ve certainly grown more confident since I’ve last seen you. How long ago was that? Remind me. I dare you._ ”

Tony expected the pointed jab at his absence. “ _Take pity and don’t be angry with me, Auntie Isa. Have you talked to Jarvis lately?_ ”

Isabella just hums and narrows her grey eyes at him, crossing her arms. “ _We talk. You know we talk, but he’s been particularly tight-lipped about_ **_you_** _, Bambino. Now seeing you in person, I see why. Fine, I’ll play this game with you. Go on, bring in the Alpha that’s put that baby in your body and makes you glow with such love and satisfaction. Goodness, it’s enough to make me envy such a dreadful thing_.”

Tony laughs explosively, enamored with her bluntness. “ _I can’t hide anything from you, can I, Auntie Isa?_ ”

Isabella merely lifts a finely arched brow and remarks. “ _Of course not, Antonio. I am knowing you since you are a little thing, and I’m very familiar with your body, Bambino. Your waist is noticeably thicker, and that suit your wearing is something I designed at the beginning of this year. It’s not falling as it should. Go and grab the one responsible, and I’ll see what I can do for them and you. I hope I won't be disappointed._ ”

“ _Thank you, Auntie Isa,_ ” Tony quickly retorts before texting Steve to come in. “ _I really love him. I want him to be fitted with the best. I had to come to you._ ”

Isabella sniffs primly but there’s no mistaking the way she preens. “ _Enough, you devious little thing. I already promised my services. No need suffocate me with such sweetness._ ”

Tony grins just as the shop’s bell announces his Alpha’s arrival. 

Isabella wrinkles her nose at the fact that Steve is dressed in his casuals. “ _Is he wearing sneakers before seven at night? How positively plebeian,_ ” she comments, sounding fascinated rather than judgemental.

“ _Be nice,_ ” Tony warns, rolling his eyes as Steve glances between them curiously, obviously unable to understand what they are saying as they continue to speak in Italian.

“ _Nice? What is this word, Antonio? It’s unfamiliar to me_ ,” Isabella primly replies, sniffing as she makes her way from behind the register to stalk gracefully towards Steve. In heavily accented English, she says, “I bid you welcome.”

Steve offers his hand and says, “Steve Rogers. Thanks for having me, Lady Alfonso.”

Tony glances sharply at his fiancé in surprise at the mention of a title.

However, the corners of Isabella’s lips twitch, and her expression thaws immensely as she accepts the young Alpha’s firm handshake, clearly impressed. “My, my, my. Someone has done their homework. Not many people know that I’ve been knighted. Not even _Antonio_. Well done. And please, Steve. Since my Bambino has claimed you for our unit, you must address me as Auntie. I insist, you precious thing.”

“Auntie, then,” Steve agrees with that damnable half-grin of his.

Tony doesn’t even know _why_ he’s surprised that Steve has easily won himself into the older woman’s good graces just like that. “Charming as always, Rogers,” he mutters and tries to look innocent when Steve shoots him an amused look for it. 

“Well then.” Isabella claps her hands twice as her uniformed workers come fluttering out of the woodworks. “Let’s get your measurements, shall we?” Switching to Italian, she addresses Tony by saying, “ _I’ll leave you with my helpmeets while I go and suffer through this - what was the word you used? Catfishing? Yes, I will do this catfishing with Stone. Where and when am I supposed to meet him?_ ”

Tony snorts at the over-exaggeration, which she’s always loved to do whenever he incorporated modern slang in their conversations. “ _Twenty minutes from now. You’re expected at Le Coucou. My driver can take you_.”

“ _Le Coucou!_ ” Isabella exclaims with transparent glee. “ _I may just forgive you yet for this._ ”

Tony just grins with a shrug, laughing when she scolds him for it since she _despises_ shrugging. He accepts the kisses she plants on both his cheeks before she grabs her fur wrap from off of the coat rack near the door.

“I’ll be back shortly, my dears,” Isabella addresses the shop as a whole while her workers spirit Steve towards the nearby alteration fitting platform in front of the mirrors. “Ah, and cancel my appointment with DiCaprio and Clooney. Reschedule them, make excuses, do whatever,” she dictates without turning around, throwing the fur wrap on with dramatic flair before exiting. 

“DiCaprio? Clooney? Like the - the _movie stars?_ ” Steve gawks when Tony nods with a simple shrug.

“Auntie Isa only really deals with celebrity clientele,” Tony confirms, sitting down in a cushioned armchair with a content sigh, crossing one leg over the other while he watches the workers gently coax Steve into spreading himself like a starfish so they can take his measurements. “She’s really the best at what she does. I said that already, didn’t I? Well, you’ll find out soon enough anyway when she finishes your order by Monday. Don’t be surprised when people stop you on the street or your coworkers ask after the name responsible for making you look undeniably amazing.”

Steve’s face does this weird thing before one of the workers scold him about relaxing.

One of the workers, the one measuring Steve’s inseam while his Alpha tries not to squirm with a red face, asks, “Mr. Stark, what’s your vision?

Tony picks up a nearby catalog book to flip through while he says, “It’s Mr. Rogers now, darling. No worries.” He glances up, drinking in the sight of his Alpha before he continues, “We want an air of mystery, something … classic, refined yet still down to earth. But we don’t want to get rid of his softness. No, his softness is what draws people in. Though, we don’t want him to be underestimated either. His command of the room should be perfectly personified in everything he wears. Keep him kind, but make it bold. Desirable.”

One of the workers quickly scribbles it down as they talk amongst themselves.

Steve swallows dryly, ignoring the way they flutter around him to measure him for the third time. “You, ah - you really see me like that?” he asks.

Tony offers him a secret smile and winks before ducking his gaze down to the catalog in his lap, concentrating on bookmarking the pieces he’s most drawn to. 

Isabella returns just as her workers are on their 78th lap of measurements (that’s how thorough the older Alpha is about her tailoring) and she’s wearing a perturbed expression. She slaps her fur wrap on the coat rack with huffy noises as she accepts the piles of notes taken, scanning them with her grey eyes, not even looking up as she says, in Italian, _“Antonio, you are to_ **_never_ ** _let yourself be alone with that - that - vile beast of a Beta. He has no good intentions for anyone but his own prowess and success. I have never met anyone who made my skin crawl besides your parents. I could hardly stomach the food when it came_.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He had expected that Tiberius Stone was an unsavory character due to the fact he’s been trying to steal patented information from Hammer Industries. But hearing Isabella confirm it just really put things in perspective. “That bad, huh?” he replies in English.

“If not worse,” Isabella agrees, still looking thoroughly disgruntled as she snaps her fingers at one of the workers, who immediately jumps to put a cushion on the floor so she can drop to her knees in front of his Alpha. “Steve, this is important for your sake and the sake of any future babies you want to give to my _Bambino_ ,” she forewarns as she accepts some measuring tape from one of her workers, looking up at him. “Which way does little Steve like to hang?”

Tony quickly lifts the catalog book he’s been flipping through to choke on a bit of laughter at the wide-eyed expression Steve makes at such a personal question. 

The workers are also tittering and snickering goodnaturedly.

When Tony lowers the book in his heads, Steve is still stammering through a reply. Tony decides to take pity and answers, “Left, Auntie Isa.” 

“Ah, okay,” Isabella merely replies, taking note of it as she goes back to measuring his inseam.

Steve shoots him a grateful but overwhelmed look.

Tony merely winks, mouthing, “Same team.”

.

.

.

 **youknowwhoiam:** yeah we’ll be there

 **killmonger:** thank god cause you know I don’t really fucks w anyone else but you

 **youknowwhoiam:** period :) 

_killmonger laughed at youknowwhoiam’s ‘period :)’ message_

**killmonger:** g just when I think u can’t surprise me with some silly shit   
**killmonger:** I stg that’s why i fucks w you

 **youknowwhoiam:** aww thanks platypus

 **killmonger:** lmao shut tf up u play too gd much 

 **youknowwhoiam:** ;)   
**youknowwhoiam:** also ‘back blown out’? what does that mean?

_killmonger emphasized youknowwhoiam’s ‘also ‘back blown out’? what does that mean?' message_

**killmonger:** yooo as a libra im deadass glad u asked shortie   
**killmonger:** allow me to break it down for you 

.

.

.

 **Sidekicks Karaoke Bar and Vegan Buffet** is a location that resides in a recently gentrified neighborhood. The crowd is mainly young professionals, for the most part, all of them at the prime of their career, all of their cocky voices melding together to compete with the karaoke being performed.

Tony does his due diligence by singling out Dr. Richards, exchanging pleasantries with the older Alpha woman who’s acting as his boss for the moment. He introduces Steve to her and to the surrounding interns who have flocked to the older woman, falling over themselves to impress her, even when it’s supposed to be a relaxed outing. He’s not surprised, though, since he’s learned within days of working as an intern for the Clean Energy faction how competitive and cutthroat everyone is.

 _Not for long_ , Tony thinks as he withstands the fake politeness from his coworkers, all of them looking down on him because they don’t believe an Omega like him has what it takes to make it in an Alpha dominated department. _Yeah, keep showing your true colors, you morons._

“Very friendly, aren’t they?” Steve comments dryly as they extract themselves from the swell of the group. “I don’t know how you can stand them when they talk down to you like that. I barely kept myself from throwing their drinks in their faces.”

Tony smiles to himself at his Alpha's protectiveness. “They tell on themselves that way, and I don’t have to wonder about it. Makes things easier for me when I officially take over,” he replies and waves when he finally spots Reed and Erik. “But there are two I’m particularly fond of.”

Steve snorts, letting himself be dragged along as they both navigate through the thick crowds. 

Erik’s dressed to impressed as always, with his dreadlocks, gold teeth, and fashion-forward urban street style. The dark-skinned man had this charisma about him that was both cocky and self-assured, and despite what he calls his ‘resting bitch face’ he always managed to draw people in. 

Reed is the exact opposite. He’s more of a sweater-vest type of guy, neatly parted and combed hair, quiet and lowkey. He had that Clarke Kent look about him, the dark hair and glasses - almost nerdy but strong, clean-shaven. He always shies away from attention when it has nothing to do with his work, and gets easily flustered by crude language and innuendos (much to Erik’s constant amusement and teasing). 

Reed and Erik are basically day and night, which is why Tony always finds their dynamic fascinating. As much as they complain about each other, they still seem to be drawn to one another, regardless.

Tony is convinced that they have a thing for each other.

“Tony, Toni, Toné!” Erik crows, jumping up to pull him into a hug, lifting the younger Omega off of his feet in the way that he loves to do to show off his impressive muscles he earned during his time as a former United States Navy SEAL, moving fast up the ranks towards being a Commander before he just suddenly quit and left it all behind. He still, till this day, won’t explain why he left it all behind. “Thank god you here, man. Richards was straight up boring me to fucking tears.”

Reed makes an offended noise before he ignores the needling Omega to shake hands with Steve and introduce himself. Then he replies, “No one forced you to sit with me, Stevens. I was doing perfectly fine on my own.”

“You mean looking all sad and shit like the one kid not invited to the cool kid’s table?” Erik retorts, sliding back in the booth to shove him over so Steve and Tony can have room to join them. “I should’ve just left your ungrateful ass to pour through them blueprints.” He turns to Tony as Reed splutters. “You know he brought his work with him, right? This man don’t got an off switch.”

Tony chuckles as Reed goes red, looking caught. “Reed, tell me you didn’t,” he sighs with amusement.

“Yeah, gone ahead and lie if you bold,” Erik mutters, taking a long pull of his beer before shoving it in Reed’s hand. “Drink some of that first. You need to relax. Nah, nah, nah - I’m not trynna hear all that ‘ _Oh I don’t drink nothing but imported_ ’ bullshit. Ya bougie ass beer taste like dog piss and we both know it. Finish this one off and order me another one. You paying for both, Dumb Alpha.”

“Insensitive Omega,” Reed mutters but he takes the beer obediently and drinks it down before wiggling out so he can head to the bar. “Can I get you anything, Tony? Steve?”

Steve says, “Tequila Sunset.”

If Tony weren’t pregnant, he would have asked for a Caipirinha, but as is, he says, “Virgin Moscow Mule and some sweet potato fries if they have any.”

Erik lifts an eyebrow at that while Reed walks off to put in the order. “ _Virgin?_ Tony, you can’t hang. You better get somethin’ stronger than that. It’s not like you pregnant or some shit.”

“Peer pressure isn’t cute, Platypus,” Tony retorts with a grin, smug when it gets Erik to bark out a surprised laugh at that until he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, aight. You not slick,” Erik says, eyeing him for a moment with that sharp gaze of his before he refrains from commenting on whatever it is he’s thinking about. He just glances over at Steve with a smirk. “So, Steve. Please tell me you have some valid opinions about either the NBA or NFL cause Tony and Richards don’t ever let me talk sports with them.”

“We can talk about how running the football in the NFL is slowly dying. Most teams’ insistence on establishing a ground attack is as useless as it is ineffective,” Steve replies.

Erik’s eyes glimmer with approval. He nods and says, “Coaches are out here treatin’ running backs the way biologists treat the human appendix: maybe they once had a purpose, but evolution has rendered them obsolete.”

“Yeah. But then, there are the Ravens,” Steve points out.

“Deadass was about to say the same _thing_ ,” Erik crows, delighted. “They run the ball more than every team in the NFL. And they have the best offense in the NFL.”

“Right, so, I’m bored to tears,” Tony announces and climbs over Erik to exit the booth. “I’m not even going to make an excuse. You two have fun with all that.”

“Boo,” Erik complains. “That’s aight, we don’t even need yo ass. Steve, you too good for this one. He don’t know how to appreciate shit.”

Tony just flips him off as Steve laughs and he makes his way to the bar to join Reed, who’s still waiting to order. “They’re talking sports,” he explains when the younger Alpha shoots him a curious look.

“Ah.” Reed’s expression clears in understanding. “At least they're getting along?”

Tony snorts because that’s true. He knows Erik doesn’t take to Alphas really well. It took him a while to warm up to Reed but honestly, Reed is so unassuming that it would make anyone seem like a prick if they didn’t like him.

“Did you hear about the recent discovery regarding a possible cure for the outbreak that was plaguing the Omega immigrants deported by Hydra from different countries they’d taken over in Africa and sent to America?” Reed asks while they wait for a bartender to take notice of them. “They’re administering two new treatments that have proven highly effective at the containment camps.”

Tony nods, perking up with interest. “The therapies saved roughly 90 percent of the patients who were newly infected, didn’t they? That’s rather impressive,” he agrees because he has been reading up on it, mainly because Dora has such a vested interest in such things.

“An absolute turning point in the weeks-long fight against the unnamed virus,” Reed gloats, just as excited. “Though they say it’s a strain that’s nearly identical to Ebola. Imagine the possibilities, Tony! We could be that much closer to turning Ebola from a terrifying disease to one that is preventable and treatable. The vaccines were tested in units run by three medical charities: Doctors Without Borders, Alima, and the International Medical Corps.”

Tony nods again since he knew that because one of Dora’s old colleagues was keeping her updated on the situation. He adds, “I also heard the team worked tirelessly to discover, develop and produce TRHM-RN4 in record time.”

“Formal testing, which began in June, was known as the ANGELS trial. If it continues to show success, then hopefully they can release those Omegas and get them integrated since they clearly can’t return home,” Reed confirms before pausing when he manages to flag down a bartender and put in their order.

While they wait, they continue going back and forth about how Hydra is continually deporting Omegas (covered in these strange purple welts) from each conquered country, sending them to America on planes and boats. Which has forced President Pierce to partner with the CDC to keep the Omegas confined to Containment Centers run by the NCEZID based in New Mexico, believing the infected refugees to be a biological threat to national security - some sort of trap or plot by Hydra since theses Omegas haven’t been sent to any other continent.

By the time they rejoin Steve and Erik, those two are in a heated about the upcoming NBA playoffs. 

Tony and Reed just leave them to it, veering towards more scientific topics while their coworkers get smashed enough to take turns behind the mic and sing.

Once or twice, Tony has to protect his sweet potato fries from Erik, who has no qualms about stealing them when he’s sure Tony is too distracted by conversation to notice. 

To show penance, Erik orders hot wings for the whole table before he and Reed down a couple of shots so they can take the stage next.

They croon out _I Would Die 4 U_ by Prince and get a positive response from the crowd about it. Erik does this thing with his hips that earns him a few catcalls while Reed looks sternly at anyone who makes any crude comments.

Tony records the whole thing and can’t wait to drop it in their group chat when Reed and Erik are sober enough to be embarrassed by it. Well, Erik will probably love it but Reed will definitely be mortified that he let himself be talked into it.

The night ends abruptly when one of the other interns tries to drunkenly grope Erik against his will and the Omega is not having.

“Just let it go,” Reed urges as they all stand outside the bar trying to calm Erik down because the Omega is ready to raise hell. 

Tony is trying to call them a rideshare from where he’s pressed into Steve’s side, both of them keeping an eye on the seething Omega. He interjects, “Dr. Richard’s taking care of it.”

“Yeah? Well I can take care of that shit too!” Erik snaps, baring his teeth. “Nah, cause I’ve had it up to the motherfucking ceiling with Alphas like Johnson who think they can get away with that bullshit just cause of who they kinfolk is. He don’t need to be talked to, he need someone to wring his neck till his white ass turn purple.”

“ _Erik!_ ” Reed exclaims in exasperation but it’s clear he’s trying to bite back some laughter. “I’ve seen you lift machines three times your own weight. You’d kill Johnson.”

Erik looks annoyed but flattered as he huffs, calming down some. “So what? Everybody dies. It’s just life around here,” he mutters, swaying a bit where he stands. “That shit don’t fly where I’m from.”

“My mother will handle it,” Reed swears, reaching out to steady him and sighing when Erik slaps his hands away grumpily. “She’ll have him removed and disgraced. She takes issues like that very seriously, but you’ll make things harder with attempted murder.”

“Exactly. So put your claws away, kitty cat,” Tony teases, wandering over so Erik can lean on him since he refuses to let anyone else help.

Erik sighs roughly, allowing himself to drape all over Tony’s back. He drops his forehead to Tony’s shoulder, mumbling, “Fine then, damn. But only cause I feel dizzy as fuck.”

“Don’t throw up on me.”

Erik huffs. “Ay, why don’t you chill before I ruin ya whole night, keep playing.”

“You know it’s exciting experiencing you like this,” Tony laughs and yelps just as Erik jabs his fingers under his armpits to tickle him. “Stop before I drop you!”

Erik just drunkenly mumbles something but he stops and opts to brood in silence like a big baby.

The rideshare pulls up and Tony helps Erik climb in with Reed’s help. 

Erik gets dropped off first, and makes it up to his apartment okay by swallowing his pride and letting Reed help him. When Reed doubles back to the car, he looks a little flustered but he’s tight-lipped about whatever happened in the ten minutes he was gone with Erik. They drop him off next before heading home themselves.

Tony makes a pitstop in their kitchen the moment the elevator doors open to their floor. He freezes once he notices that DUM-E is hastily trying to douse their waffle iron (which is engulfed in small flames) with the spray of a fire extinguisher.

“Oh, buddy,” Steve sighs, wandering over to assess the damage while Tony splutters furiously at the mess of waffle batter, broken eggshells, and flour streaked across every available surface. Steve pats DUM-E, who chirps and whirrs ashamedly. “You’re in big trouble, I hope you know. I don’t think I can help you get out of this one.”

“FRIDAY!” Tony exclaims and doesn’t miss the hesitant pause that lingers among the ceiling intercoms.

“ _Boss?_ ” FRIDAY tentatively replies.

Tony glares sternly up at the ceiling. “Explain.”

“ _Well,_ ” FRIDAY begins, clearly trying to buy herself time. “ _We just completed proper safety training, and I thought it might prove useful if we watched films with robots that had special tasks which helped their creators ease the burden of self-care. DUM-E felt particularly inspired after watching Flubber. He thought it would prove useful to master the culinary arts. I tried to suggest starting with something simple like a bowl of cereal but DUM-E was feeling ambitious. He wanted to make you both waffles._ ”

“Aw,” Steve coos, touched.

Tony can feel his eyebrow twitch in irritation. “I don’t find anything cute about the fact that he nearly set our kitchen on fire,” he points out.

“Nearly,” Steve weakly argues. “He knew what to do, though. At least he used the right tools this time. That’s an improvement.”

“God, you are a menace, and so is he!” Tony complains, even as he laughs at the audacity of his Alpha. He rolls his eyes and says, “FRIDAY, arrange for cleaning services to stop by as early as they can tomorrow. And you.” He points a stern finger at Steve. “You are going to help me get this overgrown toaster up to my lab so we can get him clean. Jesus, there’s probably all sorts of gunk where it shouldn’t be in his wiring.”

DUM-E clicks and beeps in protest.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tony dismisses. “You should have thought of that before you decided to go all Iron Chef in the kitchen. Actions, consequences, you get the picture.”

DUM-E whirrs sadly, drooping as he rolls forlornly towards the stairs, making his way up them very easily due to the anti-gravity feature Tony was so nice enough to help Steve install.

Boy, that’s really coming back to bite him.

“I think it’s sweet he’s trying to teach himself how to cook so he can cook for us,” Steve comments before quickly holding up his hands to show that he’s harmless when Tony glares at him. “I’m just trying to look on the positive side. Our other kids will probably get into way worse, this is good practice.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“Zip it.”

.

.

.

_You have shared a video with “PYOmegas … & also Richards, I guess” _

**youknowwhoiam:** happy sunday   
**youknowwhoiam:** i took the liberty of editing the footage from your karaoke performance   
**youknowwhoiam:** all in good taste

 **killmonger:** lmao i’m fucking dead at the part you edited that has spongebob chanting ‘pelvic thrust, woo’ everytime i do it   
**killmonger:** liked, subscribed, upvoted, and all that shit

 **youknowwhoiam:** lol thanks, that took a few hours

 **mr-fantastic:** How do I flag and report this? Asking for a friend.

_youknowwhoiam and killmonger laughed at mr-fantastic’s ‘How do I flag and report this? Asking for a friend.’ message._

.

.

.

**SUNDAY**

“What do you think about these?” Steve asks, gesturing to the 6-piece furniture nursery set in antique white as they roam around a local baby store to see if they can find some inspiration over how they wanted to set up their daughter’s nursery.

So far, it’s been one big headache for Tony, overwhelming and emotionally exhausting in a way that he didn’t expect. He can’t seem to find anything he likes, anything that stands out to him as a definite yes. 

“I don’t care much for the color,” Steve goes on to say when Tony fails to respond. Unlike Tony, he’s loving this little adventure, damn near ready to buy the entire store. “But I could always paint over it with something safe. What do you think?”

“I think it all looks the same,” Tony sighs, rubbing his face tiredly before he drops his hands to glare at all the surrounding cribs. “I also think I could design something way better.”

“And that wouldn’t be more stressful than just buying something pre-made?” Steve asks carefully, seeming to pick up on the fact that Tony is in a mood. “I’m not against it,” he promises. “But we’d still have to pick out the bedding and decor to go along with it all.”

Tony just groans. This really isn’t his thing. “Maybe we should just hire someone to do all this for us.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Steve replies, smiling when Tony grumpily mocks him for it as he pulls out his phone and glances at the text messages there. “Okay, fussy,” he laughs, pulling Tony over to the section with the rocking chairs. “Take a seat for a moment. I’m gonna go grab something.”

Tony frowns but he sits, slightly relieved at the chance to get off his feet. They’d been roaming this store for hours without pause.

Steve darts off and out of sight when he’s sure Tony is settled.

Tony lets his eyes drift around, settling over the other expectant couples, watching the way they smile with excitement or affectionately argue over this and that. He feels a little bad he’s soured the experience for Steve, who has been nothing but patient and open-minded compared to Tony. 

Steve returns and says, “Here.” 

Tony blinks as he finds himself with an armful of a fake, plastic baby. He laughs and says, “What’s this?”

“That’s our daughter,” Steve explains with a playful grin, his side of the bond saturated with every hue of orange. “She’s got your eyes.”

Tony laughs harder, unsure what Steve is playing at or why he’s going along with it because he’s cradling the bright pink baby doll as if it were an actual baby. 

Steve ducks down and kisses him on the cheek, before pulling away to explain, “I thought this might help give you some perspective. Imagine if our daughter was actually in your arms, how would that change things here? What would you want for her?”

Tony huffs and glances down at the fake baby in his arms, tracing his finger over the rosy, hard plastic cheek as he tries to imagine his daughter there instead. He says, “I’d still want to design her crib myself. But. I do like this rocking chair.” He rocks a little more, still cradling the fake baby as he envisions the late nights he’ll have to stay up nursing. 

“That’s a good start as any, Master Anthony.”

Tony whips his head to the right and sees that yes, he isn’t imagining it, Jarvis is actually here. He stumbles to his feet. He looks at Jarvis and then looks at Steve, both of them smiling at him in amusement. “Okay, what’s happening?”

“I just thought you’d enjoy this better if we had some extra help. You know, divide and conquer,” Steve explains as he walks backward slowly. “Ma’s here too, but she’s caught up in the clothes section so I have to meet her there before she tries and put our kid in something unsavory like a onesie that says ‘50 Shades of Poop’ or something equally horrifying. It’s really nice meeting you, Jarvis. Thanks for coming out.”

“It’s my pleasure, certainly,” Jarvis agrees warmly, gifting Steve with a rare smile he generally reserves just for Tony alone.

Tony has this weird mixture of nervousness and excitement that surges up inside of him. He fidgets when he has the older Omega’s attention on him after they're left alone. “You know, I didn’t realize I was being so grouchy that Steve had to call in reinforcements,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t put it in those exact terms,” Jarvis disagrees, looping their arms together so he can guide him over to the section with the changing tables and disposable waste bins meant solely for diapers. “I think it was more that he recognized that your lack of experience in this area was frustrating you. You have a tendency to throw a fit when you come across an unfamiliar problem you’re not sure how to solve.”

Tony flushes because he knows Jarvis is speaking from personal experience, probably thinking of the countless times Tony threw a temper tantrum as a child over the smallest things he couldn’t figure out for himself. He takes his independence very seriously in that way. 

Jarvis’s whiskey brown eyes glimmer with mirth but he doesn’t comment on the reaction. He nods at the changing tables around them. “Now, allow me in all my wisdom to offer you the guidance you need,” he says. “Babies, I’ve come to find, are a very messy business.”

Tony listens intently, eagerly, as Jarvis walks him through everything.

They discuss everything from picking the right changing station, to baby monitors and cameras, and even nursing pumps until Tony has no more doubts or grievances. 

“My first ultrasound is tomorrow,” Tony announces as they navigate through the section holding playpens, walkers, and baby swings. 

“That’s exciting,” Jarvis remarks with a small grin. “Are you nervous?”

“Oh absolutely,” Tony admits shamelessly in a way that gets Jarvis to chuckle. He feels an answering grin form on his face. “It helps to know that Steve will be there with me.”

“Yes, he seems immensely supportive,” Jarvis compliments, sounding relieved over it. “That’s more than most of us Omegas hope for.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees quietly. “We visited Auntie Isa the other day.”

“I’m aware,” Jarvis chuckles. “She spent four hours telling me all about that. You really ought to visit her more, you know. She complains to _me_ when you don’t, as if I could control anything you do.” It seems like it should be a complaint but Jarvis does that thing where he sounds too proud of what a free-spirit Tony turned out to be for it to actually take as one.

Tony just hums as he hugs Jarvis’s right arm while they pause near the clothing department. “You’ll tell me the story about how you two know each other, right? When your contract ends?” he asks.

Jarvis smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. And just like that, the wall is back up again. He pats the back of Tony’s hand affectionately and says, “I’ll tell you anything and everything you want to know when that day comes. I promise.”

“Okay,” Tony says and doesn’t press, even though he always wants to. “We’ve waited this long, right? What’s another five to six months?”

Jarvis huffs and pulls him into a quick hug before letting him go. “Exactly,” he agrees before he glances at his watch. “I’m afraid I must be off now. I’ve used up all the personal time I can afford without making myself subject to your parents' inquiries. Do take care of yourself, Master Anthony.”

“You too,” Tony replies, mood dipping slightly as Jarvis widens the space between us. “Thanks so much for helping me. I’d be lost without you.” He adds, “I’ll save you a copy of the ultrasound.”

“I’d very much like that,” Jarvis concurs with a final nod before he wanders off in search of the exits.

Tony can’t help but always feel like a piece of his heart goes with the older Omega whenever he’s not around. He sighs and goes in search of Steve and Sarah, who are comparing baby bathtubs when he finds them.

They light up when they see him and eagerly loop him in on the conversation.

It’s enough to lift his spirits again.

.

.

.

Tony barely makes it past the living room couch before he collapses over it, utterly drained from the day's activities. He falls into a short nap while Steve and Sarah busy themselves with filling one of the rooms on the second level with all of today’s purchases.

DUM-E is trying to use an old, haggard towel streaked with motor oil to cover him when he wakes next.

Tony snorts and bats it away. “Hey, spare parts for brains. Civilized humans prefer nice, clean fleece,” he corrects, standing to stretch out all the kinks.

DUM-E chirps inquisitively.

“Blankets,” Tony clarifies as he continues to stretch, wondering where Steve is. “Ask your big sister about that one.”

DUM-E beeps agreeably, claw rotating, opening and closing before lowering to pet Tony’s head.

Tony huffs at the affection, petting him back as his smile widens while DUM-E preens at the attention. “Where’s your father?” he asks.

DUM-E whirrs and clicks, rolling back and forth eagerly like a puppy before rolling over to the elevator.

Tony follows him and they climb on together. He watches in amusement as DUM-E jabs the button for Hammer’s floor and the elevator rises.

The elevator opens to the commotion of shouting and laughter.

Tony follows DUM-E down the long hall and around the corner to the living room.

Vanko and Sarah are playing Just Dance Unlimited, dancing to Boney M.'s _Rasputin_ while Hammer, Ms. Everhart, Rhodey, and Steve laughingly spectate.

Two full-grown Dalmatians stand to attention and bark, announcing Tony’s presence when they trot over, tails wagging eagerly.

Tony laughs as they leap up and try to jump in his arms, licking away at his face affectionately.

Hammer whistles sharply. “Pongo! Lady! Cool it. Aw geez, hang on.” He stands and wonders over, pulling them back by their collars. “Sorry about that, little star. They can be really friendly and overbearing about it.”

“Just like their owner!” Vanko remarks, slightly out of breath as he tries to keep up with Sarah, causing a ripple of laughter to spread through the room.

Hammer rolls his eyes but he doesn’t deny it, petting Pongo and Lady’s side before he waves them off. “Skedaddle, troublemakers.”

Pongo and Lady just trot over to DUM-E, sniffing around him and growling playfully.

DUM-E’s claw opens and closes curiously at them before he picks up a nearby ball and tosses it, sending the twin Dalmatians into a frenzy as they go chasing after it.

Hammer huffs fondly. “Oh boy, they’re never gonna leave that one alone now that they know they can get some playtime out of him. That’s DUM-E, right? Steve mentioned him,” he comments, eyeing the bot with an impressed grin. “He’s got some fascinating call and response.”

Tony finds himself preening and tries to hide it by asking, “What’s going on up here?”

“Family Game Night!” Hammer crows, spreading his arms out with the announcement. “We’re trying to make this a thing. This will be the first of many, at least once a month on a Sunday. Would’ve looped you in sooner but Sarah thought it’d be best to let you rest. We’ve only been at it for about fifteen minutes, so you haven’t missed much.”

Tony snorts as Hammer drapes an arm over his shoulders and guides him to the L-shaped couch so they can sit next to each other. 

Steve is sitting on the floor, on the plush carpet with his back against the edge of the couch by Tony’s feet. He glances up to smile at him before his attention is drawn back to recording his mother as she continues to trounce the Russian Alpha at Just Dance.

“Yeah, Vanko had first pick and he talked a big game about being the best at Just Dance,” Rhodey adds from where he’s sharing a double armchair with Ms. Everhart, who has her heels off so he can massage her feet. “As you can see, he’s all talk.”

Vanko growls but rather than respond, concentrates on catching up to Sarah.

“Like you’re any better,” Hammer teases, bumping his shoulder against Tony’s affectionately. “He’s brilliant in the sky, but on the ground, he’s got two left feet.”

“Slander,” Rhodey replies. “That’s why it’s you and me next. I’m about to embarrass you in front of your kid.”

“I can do that just fine on my own, thanks,” is Hammer’s snap quick reply and Tony laughs without even meaning to, making the older Alpha smile over at him with fond pride. 

“What are we doing about food?” Ms. Everhart questions, making cooing noises when Pongo trots over to rest his head in her lap. “Anyone feel like cooking or should we order out?”

“Happy’s supposed to be bringing some homemade spicy kopytka and pickle soup,” Hammer remarks, looking at his phone for his most recent text messages from the Beta man. “Did y'all know he was Polish or was that just me that didn’t? Show of hands.”

Everyone but Tony and Steve raise their hands.

The song finally ends. Sarah wins by a landslide.

“Okay, come get this whooping,” Rhodey announces as he begins to stretch and accepts one of the controllers from Vanko.

Hammer scoffs and takes the controller from Sarah as she takes his seat beside Tony.

“How are you feeling, love?” Sarah asks, grooming his hair as an excuse to scent him.

Tony smiles at her. “Rested. Hungry.”

Sarah nods, satisfied before she turns her attention forward.

Lady hops up on the couch, panting from all the excitement of playing with DUM-E. She climbs halfway into Tony’s lap and lies there to catch her breath.

Tony assures Hammer he doesn’t mind when he notices, and carefully pets and strokes behind Lady’s ears as she sighs pleasantly, wagging her tail.

DUM-E has managed to roll off somewhere sometime between Rhodey and Hammer tying for first place while Steve and Ms. Everhart decide to try their hand at the game.

“I’ll go check on him,” Tony says when he notices, and stands to find their wayward, overly curious bot. He smiles when he feels Pongo and Lady trail after him, keeping him company through the many twists and turns of Hammer’s condo. 

He finds DUM-E on the second floor in the third room to the right, emptying out the cardboard boxes filled with stacks of loose photos.

“DUM-E,” Tony scolds and DUM-E just whirrs sheepishly. “You always have to get into something, don’t you? Come on. Out, out, out. Before you do any more damage. Go down with the others before I put you on another timeout.”

DUM-E beeps sadly, chastised, before rolling out with Pongo and Lady following after him.

Tony snorts and shakes his head fondly before he crouches down to clean up some of the mess. He tosses the photos back into the empty box, not really paying attention to most of it until a couple catches his eye.

It’s childhood photos of Hammer: at his bar mitzvah, his first Yom Kippur, his eighth Passover, and so on.

Tony finds it interesting since Hammer doesn’t give any indication that he’s Jewish or that he even follows the faith. It makes him wonder why that is as he glances around at the rows and rows of boxes, stashed in this room like forgotten memories. Some of the photos even have Hammer’s full name on them: Jacob Isaac Hammer.

From what he knows, Hammer only goes by Justin. Curious.

Tony quickly stuffs the rest of the photos back in the box, feeling a little guilty that he’s intruding on such private memories, despite the fact that he’s considered family himself. He's getting ready to exit when he notices there’s one last photo stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He carefully pries it free and sees that it’s a photo of a woman with thick dark hair and kind eyes holding a newborn child.

On the back reads: _Amanda Beck & Quentin Justin Beck (1997 - unknown). _

Tony deliberates over it, noticing that the kid kinda really looks like Hammer. It makes him wonder all the more, realizing that he doesn’t know Hammer as well as he could. He thinks maybe it’s own fault for keeping the older Alpha at a careful distance. 

He sighs and puts the photo back with the others, deciding then and there to make efforts to get to know his new sire better.

It’s clear there’s more to him than meets the eye, and Tony always loved a good mystery.

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** so what would you say if i told you that there may or may not be more than one Peter Parker that landed in our universe?   
**sunflowersandstickers:** because that’s exactly what i just found out when me and Parker went to go meet up with his Aunt May


	37. YEAR 1: PART V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV

**TONY’S WEEKEND (CONTINUED…)**

**SUNDAY**

Those photos that Tony discovered become like metal balls dinging around in his mind like a pinball machine. He's trying not to think about them as he navigates his way through the many twists and turns of Hammer's condo. With a mind like his, it's almost impossible not to obsess over new information that catches his interest. Likewise, with Hammer's past, this time seems to be no different.

By the time Tony makes it back down to the first level, still lost to his thoughts, DUM-E is playing a new round of fetch with Pongo and Lady, seemingly making honest efforts to stay out of mischief. 

But there’s quite a commotion emanating from the living room. 

There seems to be new additions, new voices he doesn’t recognize, voices that have the strangest accents he can’t quite place. He’d say Swedish possibly, or maybe even Nordic. He’s pondering it with such serious thought that he manages to stumble over a blunt object that’s sitting just before the end of that long stretch of the hall.

Tony swears as the front of his foot throbs, and he spends a moment cradling his toes as he bounces on the other, muttering, “Yikes! Yikes, yikes, yikes.” to himself before he glares down at the culprit.

It’s some kind of medieval hammer looking thing. Its shiny silver head was fat and square with intricate, mystical symbols etched along the edges.

There’s a whisper of curiosity that brushes Tony’s mind and he finds himself dropping his foot to the ground so he can crouch closer to examine the hilt. 

“Now where did a wonder like you come from?” Tony murmurs as his eyes roam the object, brushing his fingers against the metal he can’t seem to place when he mentally goes through the periodic table of elements. “Flawless finish - someone really put their heart and soul in crafting you. What a beautiful and strange thing you are.”

The medieval hammer seems to hum with satisfaction under his fingers when he wraps his hands around the hilt.

Tony picks it up as he straightens, turning it this way and that. “Huh,” he says with amusement. It’s lighter than he thought it would be. “You barely weigh anything at all.”

The commotion in the living room seems to burst through Tony’s thoughts, drawing his attention to it. He carries the medieval hammer with him, pausing near the edge of where the carpet starts and finds both of his eyebrows shoot up at the group of large Alphas dressed like heavily muscled Vikings.

“I’m not going off-world with you again, Thor!” Hammer exclaims with a level of incredulous annoyance that Tony’s never seen on him before. He’s usually the one at the center of that reaction. “Definitely not after last time with Loki. Speaking of - have you managed to pinpoint Reindeer Games?”

The one called Thor, the largest Alpha of them all with brilliantly handsome features, neat braids with runestone beads woven into most of them sprinkled in both his long hair and long beard, rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, well - Loki is quite skilled at concealing his whereabouts. Even from Heimdall, who has the keenest eyes in all the Nine Realms,” he replies with a wounded puppy dog look that should only make him look silly in all his red-caped Viking getup, but totally somehow doesn’t. 

“Yeah, no way,” Hammer snorts, unmoved. “Things are different now, Big Guy. For one, I’ve aged up quite a bit since we’ve last had our fun by like thirty years. I know that's only a blink in your eyes, but I've felt every single second of it. My bones sing, and it's not a happy tune. Secondly, I’ve got a kid who doesn’t need me dying on him by letting myself get wrapped up in your antics. And as a family man, I'm saying no. Because I'm mature like that.”

“Quite,” Thor agrees, eyeing him with audible humor, standing a bit taller. He seems to eclipse the entire room with his mass. “However, it troubles me to inform you that the ‘antics’ you wish to avoid is already at your doorstep. There are two Infinity Gems on your world, and word has spread of it across the galaxy. There is an assumption that Midgard is ripe for pillage, and as my father has fallen to Odinsleep and can not dissuade such conquests, we must together speak with your world’s leaders to discuss the necessary defenses needed to be set in place. Perhaps a tournament, we may have, to establish Midgard’s most formidable warriors! Those who be willing to join the ‘good fight’, and you have such a way with words, it was my thought to come to you first.”

“Flattered, truly,” Hammer replies looking very overwhelmed and stressed. “But as I’ve said, I’ve got a kid to think about. That’s my stance.”

“I congratulate you on such blessings,” Thor concedes, handsome face twisting with a frown. “But do you not think it prudent to ensure your little one’s safety by aiding in Midgard’s security?”

“Emotional blackmail,” Hammer groans before he points a stern finger at the bigger Alpha as his face shows his annoyance. “I should have _never_ taught you that trick.”

Thor merely grins innocently.

Tony thinks this is a good time as ever to interject. He clears his throat and waves the medieval hammer. “Sorry to interrupt but does this belong to anyone? I almost broke my foot tripping over it.”

For some reason, Thor’s grim-faced Viking entourage is gawking at him, staring like a group of deers caught in the headlights. 

Even Vanko, Rhodey, and Ms. Everhart do a doubletake while Hammer laughs sharply with thick paternal pride, seeming unsurprised but giddy by the turn of events.

Sarah and Steve seem as confused and as curious as Tony is by the room’s reactions, which is ranging from shock to baffled to enthralled.

Thor, who is staring, quite hungrily, at Tony, removes his winged helmet as he turns to face away from the rest of the room to examine Tony in his entirety. He’s absolutely drinking Tony in like he can’t get enough of what he sees.

Tony squirms under the intensity of it. He’s not even a little surprised when Steve’s side of the bond starts blooming with grassy greens when he takes notice of Thor’s apparent interest as well.

“You wield Mjølnir with such grace, Pretty One,” Thor praises, voice deep and rumbling like thunder. “I have never seen her behave in such a way with strangers. Truly you are Worthy.”

Tony grins in confusion. “Uh, right …” he drawls before offers Mjølnir to Thor. “So we’re skipping over the part where I said I almost broke my foot on it? You really shouldn’t leave it lying around for people to trip over. That’s just asking for a lawsuit. Lucky for you, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, and I’m not so bored that I’d pursue such a thing.”

“You speak of your riches with such ease. Are you a prince?” Thor inquires, taking a step forward to relieve Tony of Mjølnir. 

Tony blushes, not only at the way Thor purposefully brushes their fingers together but at how sincere the Alpha sounds. “I’m flattered but I’m happily taken,” he remarks, indicating to the bite mark on his left wrist.

“A boon of the gods themselves given to the person who holds your regard, surely,” Thor rumbles as he ties Mjølnir to his waist.

Tony flickers his eyes over to Steve as his mouth twists with amusement. “You hear that Steve? I’m a godsend,” he teases.

Steve snorts. “I’ve always suspected,” he agrees.

Tony laughs and Thor stares at him, enchanted. He says, “I’m being rude.” He offers a hand to shake. “Anthony Rogers née Hammer. You can call me Tony.”

Thor accepts the hand, but instead of shaking it, he grazes his bearded mouth over his knuckles before releasing it with a charming smirk. “Thor, God of Thunder and Prince of Asgard!” he announces with jovial pride, spreading his arms wide to prove that he rarely does things in subtle gestures. “I am the lord of the winds and the storm! Thunder and lightning are my hunting dogs, the rain is my whip, and when I must, I ride a great and terrible steed: the earthquake! And with the help of my Mighty Hammer, Mjølnir, I steadily cover my hands with lightning bolts and command them to strike the mark.”

Tony stares at him after that introduction before glancing to his sire with a lifted brow.

Hammer just shrugs while wobbling his hand back and forth but gives a confirming nod.

“So, you’re an alien,” Tony simplifies and Thor’s entourage guffaws at that. “That’s kinda cool.”

Thor chuckles lightheartedly as he nods. “Indeed, Pretty One.” He gestures to his entourage and introduces them as the Warriors Four: Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, and Sif. “Perhaps one day I can introduce you to the many splendors of Asgard,” he supposes after Tony has exchanged pleasantries with his pack.

“Absolutely not!” Hammer protests, looking horrified. “You’ll just ply him with that damnable mead that tastes like honey and when he’s practically on his ass, you’ll convince him to join a hunting party so you can stalk something dangerous like a group of thousand-year-old zombie Vikings or Bilgesnipes.”

Thor gives a booming laugh at that, and it nearly makes both Marina Towers tremble. “These are just the many charms that Asgard has to offer, I assure you,” he swears, giving Tony a conspiratorial wink that the Omega can’t help but snort at. “Besides,” he continues, clapping his hands together. “I can think of no greater bonding experience between Anthony and his betrothed than to accumulate such victorious prowess in battle. Nor for father and son to fortify the strength of their bond whilst laying waste to enemy and foe.”

“That’s not going to work on me anymore. I’ve told you, I’m a different person now,” Hammer insists, crossing his arms while he looks deeply unamused. “You’re not taking me, my kid, or his fiancé off-planet.”

“We shall see,” Thor airily remarks and Tony could swear he sees a vein pulse in Hammer’s forehead. Thor sits down on the nearest couch, nearly dwarfing it with his impressive muscles and pats the empty space beside him as a gesture to Tony. “For now, we will put such talks aside. Come, Anthony! You must tell me more about yourself! I wish to know about the one who can command Mjølnir as easily as I.”

Tony joins him, keeping a respectable distance, a little amused when the rest of his entourage scramble to take up the free spaces around him before anyone else gets the chance to.

That leaves Steve, Sarah, Hammer, Rhodey, Ms. Everhart, and Vanko no choice but to utilize all the other furniture. Hammer is pretty annoyed by that.

Tony breaks the silence by saying, “Yeah, so, what’s the deal there? I’m starting to get the feeling that me holding your Medieval Hammer is a big deal of some sort?”

“Aye,” the one called Sif confirms, removing some of her armor and weapons to get more comfortable.

Tony can pick up her scent, now that’s she’s closer, and he’s amazed to find that she’s an Omega and not an Alpha as he’d thought. His interest in her doubles tenfold for that reason alone because what Omega on Earth didn’t dream of being in her place? Roaming the galaxy as a fierce warrior. It’s clear Asgardians don’t cling to the same beliefs as they do on Tony’s homeworld.

There’s a certain twinkle in Sif’s eyes when she notices his admiration, grinning kindly at him like an older sister to her adorable younger brother. She leans forward as if preparing to share a secret and Tony finds himself leaning in curiously too. She says, “Mjølnir weighs roughly twelve thousand trillion pounds.”

Tony blinks, and then blinks again, and blinks one more time for good measure, feeling like the Blinking White Guy Meme. He finally finds his voice to respond, “That’s as much as three hundred billion elephants.”

“Elephants?” Fandral repeats as his head cocks to the side with a curious expression. “What manner of creature is that?”

Thor says something in a completely different language that Tony knows he’s never heard on Earth but whatever he says seems to clear up the Warrior’s Four confusion.

“Yes, I suppose that would be an appropriate parallel,” Hogun agrees, stroking his braided beard thoughtfully. 

Thor releases Mjølnir from his waist and offers it to Tony as everyone watches to see what will happen.

“I don’t understand,” Tony remarks as he holds the hammer as easily as he did before. “It feels as weightless as a cup of water.”

“You are Worthy!” Thor exclaims, seeming delighted that this has not changed in the past ten minutes. 

“Worthy of what?” Tony questions, still lost, handing the hammer back.

Thor puts it on Hammer’s coffee table, ignoring the disapproving look Ms. Everhart shoots him for it.

Hammer interjects, “There’s this whole thing about Odin instilling a sort of recognition in that overgrown mallet. Some complex biological and psychological profile that calculates the 'worthiness' of whoever is trying to lift the hammer.”

“Your sire is quite sour about the fact that his last attempt of such a feat was met with no success,” Thor adds with a cheeky grin that Hammer scoffs at. 

It still doesn’t make sense to Tony. He glances at where Mjølnir is resting on Hammer’s coffee table, undisturbed. “So does that mean the coffee table is Worthy?”

That sends a ripple of laughter through the room.

“Here the answer lies with Newton’s First Law of Motion,” Rhodey explains, doing Tony the favor of putting it in terms the genius can understand. “Which states that an object at rest will remain at rest if no net force acts upon it.”

“The keyword in the last sentence is ‘net’ here,” Hammer emphasizes. “When the hammer rests on the coffee table, there is a downward force on it from the gravitational attraction between the mass of the hammer and the mass of the Earth -”

“- which we refer to as its ‘gravitational weight’ and a counter-force from the tabletop pushing up on the hammer,” Rhodey goes on to explain. “One can only conclude that a unique property of uru metal is that, under the proper stimulus, it can emit large quantities of gravitons.”

“Basically, the Asgardians are ahead of us scientifically, Annie,” Hammer concludes with wry amusement.

“What is it made of?” Tony asks, looking to Thor for the answer.

But it’s Volstagg who answers, “Enchanted metal forged from the heart of a dying star.”

“Neutron star matter?” Tony repeats incredulously and balks when he’s met with answering nods. “That means it’s the densest material in the universe outside of a black hole.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees but does not elaborate. “Perhaps a demonstration may prove more effective to relay the levity of its might. Would anyone care to try?”

No one moves for several beats.

“Well, I haven’t any interest in trying,” Sarah clarifies from where she’s got Steve pressed into her side in the armchair they are sharing. She seems humored but nothing more than that.

“ _I try,_ ” Vanko says in Russian, hefting himself to his feet. He repeats, in English this time, “I try.”

Hammer cheers obnoxiously. “Ivan, buddy, you got this. Do me proud.”

Vanko grumbles something before he wraps both hands around the hilt of Mjølnir, taking a deep breath before he pulls.

Tony watches the Russian Alpha struggle, completely amazed that the strain is quite genuine. 

“Okay, stand back. Let me give this thing a shot,” Rhodey announces, rolling his shoulders as he wanders over.

“Lift with your knees, Sugar,” Ms. Everhart comments, amused.

Rhodey shoots her a dry look for that before he attempts to pick up Mjølnir. Nothing.

“This is crazy,” Tony mumbles, unable to rationalize what he’s witnessing.

Thor chuckles, looking completely tickled by the proceedings. He must be used to issuing this challenge and watch people fail in their attempts to rise and meet it.

“Lift with your knees!” Ms. Everhart insists.

“I’m lifting with my damn knees! It’s all knees at this point!” Rhodey grunts, yanking at the hilt that does not budge an inch. “Justin, get over here.”

“Oh boy,” Hammer sighs but he approaches. “I definitely don’t think I’m going to be much help, Sugarbear.”

“Less talk, more action,” Rhodey grunts, moving his hands so that Hammer has space to get a hold. When that doesn’t work, he says, “Ivan, come on.”

Vanko scoffs but he rejoins the efforts and the three of them try to use every muscle they have available.

Still nothing.

Ms. Everhart actually puts her phone down, wandering over to bat him away. “Okay, this is ridiculous and embarrassing. How do three grown Alphas not have the strength to pick up something no bigger than a vacuum? Move, move.” She finds a handhold so that all of them can try. “On three. One - two - three - lift!”

The four of them combined make nothing happen and after a couple of more minutes of trying, they give up.

Thor and the Warriors Four laugh boisterously, deeply amused.

“Feeling kinda left out,” Steve says dryly as he wanders over, rolling up his sleeves with a wry grin. “Might as well get my humiliation over with.”

Tony watches closely and his heart skips a beat when his Alpha manages to lift the hammer, if only for a few inches before it drops again.

Thor pauses thoughtfully at that, gazing at Steve with a level of intensity that says he’s viewing Steve in a new light. 

Even the Warriors Four have gone quiet.

“See, that’s who we should have volunteered first!” Hammer exclaims, shaking Rhodey by the shoulders with eager pride. “My future son-in-law, ladies and gentlemen!”

Steve flushes under the attention, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as everyone looks on at him with different levels of admiration and respect.

Tony just smiles widely as he catches Steve’s gaze. He’s the least astonished of all of them. He knows his Alpha’s worth, and it’s only surprising that Steve wasn’t able to lift it completely. It makes him question why that is, what the perimeters or requirements are for Mjølnir to find one ‘Worthy’.

“Intent weighs heavily on such matters,” Thor explains, answering Tony’s unspoken question. “Mjølnir searches the deepest places of your heart and mind, balancing it against your objective, or ‘endgame’ as it were, for the uses you seek to brandish the Mighty Hammer with.”

“Actually that makes sense,” Rhodey remarks. “I tried to lift it, thinking I could play some kind of prank on Justin. Put it on his toilet lid so he’s forced to use the sink or something.”

“Same,” Vanko and Ms. Everhart chime simultaneously before the three of them laugh amongst themselves with something fond.

“Gee, thanks for that. I feel so loved,” Hammer drawls in reply and snorts when it’s just met with winks. “And yeah, I was thinking about how nice it would be to strike Tiberius Stone with lightning three times. Can you imagine how confused the Beta would have been about that? Lightning’s not supposed to strike the same spot more than once. Epic.”

There’s a ripple of laughter that follows that comment.

When things quiet down some, Steve says, “I was mostly, uh, thinking of Tony.”

Tony flushes as that’s met with a cooing ‘aww’. And when everyone turns to look at Tony expectantly. He shrugs timidly and admits, “First time was just me not wanting anyone else to get hurt as I did.” He stands and wanders over, amazed that Mjølnir lets him pick her up yet again. “I might have been complimenting her a lot. Still am. It’s a very interesting design. It’s also hard for me to think of it as a weapon, to be honest. Seems more - sentient than that.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “Your respect and reverence are just among one of the many reasons why Mjølnir must find you Worthy. For all else, I cannot say. Only Mjølnir knows.”

Tony takes that in, unsure of what to think of that before he hands it to Thor, who accepts it readily again. “So, you were saying something earlier about a crisis that involves gems and Earth?”

Thor opens his mouth to no doubt elaborate but Hammer quickly interjects, “Nope, no more shop talk on Family Game Night. Besides, it’s nothing for you to worry about, little star. My answer is still _no_ by the way, Thor. Don’t let him rope you in with the whole ‘dire consequences that will bring about the end of the world’ spiel thing he does, Annie. He always overplays it. He doesn’t need us as much as he’s implying.”

“Debatable, old friend,” Thor quips but lets the matter rest. “Tell me more of this Night of Games for kin? What does such an event entail?”

Hammer leaps at the opportunity to distract the Thunder God with Just Dance, explaining the intricate rules and such. Then he says, “I’ll even demonstrate.” He looks to Tony with a glimmer in his eye. “How about it, Junior? You wanna show our foreign friends how it’s done?”

Tony scoffs before he gathers to his feet to accept the other controller. “Sure,” he merely says, voice deceptively light. “Why not make it more interesting?”

“Yeah?” Hammer seems to consider it for a moment as their small audience looks on. “What did you have in mind?” 

Tony steels himself, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach as he suggests, “We can wager over spending a whole day bonding. Winner gets to pick what exactly what that entails?”

Hammer seems surprised at the offer but he’s eager to agree.

Tony, who’s more used to rejection than acceptance from father figures, grins in relief and jumps at the opportunity to pick the song they do when Hammer diplomatically offers. He picks _Hey Ya_ by Outkast.

Hammer waits until the end of the song, when he’s crushed Tony by a landslide, to confess, “That was actually my favorite one to do when it first hit the platform. That was a guaranteed victory for me, sorry but not sorry to say.”

Tony’s not even mad about it, so he turns down Hammer’s offer of a second round. He turns to the rest of the room and asks, “Who’s next?”

Fandral and Thor jump at the opportunity.  

“Happy’s here,” Hammer announces, eyeing the screen of his phone while Fandral and Thor argue in the background over what song to play. “I’m gonna go down and grab him.”

“I’ll come with!” Tony quickly offers, going a little pink when Hammer, again, looks surprised and taken back. Geez, just how standoffish has he been this whole time? “Only if you want,” he adds.

“Your company is always welcome, Annie,” Hammer firmly reassures and gestures for him to follow him to the elevators.

They pass DUM-E, who is going back and forth between giving Pongo and Lady belly rubs, which the Dalmatians seem to really enjoy.

Hammer chuckles fondly but leaves them to it, urging his dogs to stay when they perk up at his sudden appearance, tails wagging happily at the sight of him.

Tony secretly thinks it's sweet. After they’ve climbed onto the elevator and have begun their descent, he asks, “So what did you have in mind for our day together?”

Hammer grins and replies, “What would you like to do, little star?”

Tony huffs and rolls his eyes. “You know the whole point of wagering was so it was up to the _winner’s_ discretion. What’s the point if you just ask me?”

“Maybe I need some ideas to glean from,” Hammer argues lightheartedly, eyes dancing with mirth. “I need some direction here. You’re a tough cookie to crack.”

Tony sobers at that and shifts as he glances away to watch the small touchscreen displaying a loop of commercials all having to do with local events and happenings either in or around the Marina Towers. He says, “Yeah, I kinda - I know I’ve been difficult to connect with. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for when Howard left a shitty act to follow,” Hammer decides, then and there, sounding so certain that Tony has no choice but to meet his warm gaze. “I know that carefulness is nothing personal to me. I was much the same when I got up from under my old man’s fist. Our parents are the first we see of the world, and if they’re as cruel as ours were to us, well, then that’s what we continue to expect. That’s not an easy thing to workaround, but I see you’re trying and that’s all that matters. But take all the time you need to trust me, Anthony. I encourage it. I’ll always be here, and I’ll wait for as long as you need me to. I’ve got patience as vast as oceans when it comes to you. Promise.”

Tony’s not sure what to say in reply to that heartfelt confession. He swallows past the emotional lump that forms in his throat and he manages to croak out, “Thank you.”

Hammer smiles and nods.

A comfortable silence falls over the elevator as they get closer and closer to their destination.

Tony breaks it by saying, “I wouldn’t mind seeing where you grew up. If that’s - if that’s okay?”

Hammer seems to contemplate the request before he nods easily. “Yeah, I can work with that,” he agrees just as the elevator stops and the doors open to the lobby. “I’ll get Christine to look over our calendars and schedule a weekend for us.”

Tony nods agreeably as they step off to go towards the security desk so they can collect Happy, and that’s the end of that.

On the way up, Tony amusedly watches as Hammer uses obnoxious exaggerations to catch Happy up to speed with what he’s missed so far. His sire even goes as far as humming the Superman theme song as he reenacts Tony waving around Thor’s Mystical Hammer of Wonders (his words) like it’s just a hairbrush.

 _Yeah,_ Tony thinks internally as he laughs at the way Happy and Hammer seem to play off of each other in the ‘interactive storytelling’ department. _I could have done worse for a second chance at a decent sire. But then, I’ve always had good taste in Alphas._ _Despite coming from one of the worst ones on the planet._  

.

.

.

Tony thought Happy had been making some stupid joke when he had warned that his homemade spicy kopytka and pickle soup was, “So good it’ll knock your socks off while also serving as a powerful aphrodisiac once it hits your lower intestines, so you nice folks be careful of your portion size. Those of you with immaculate willpower will easily evade temptation. The rest of you? Good luck.”

They had all laughed even while Happy kept a straight face that had only served to make them laugh harder, each of them assuming it was a part of the gimmick.

They had all been hefty in their portions out of pure consideration because anything less might have been taken as an offense.

Even while the food went around, Happy warned again, “You ain’t gotta spare my feelings, you know. I said to start small, didn’t I? Geez, suit yourselves. Don’t you say I didn’t warn ya, bon appetit.”

They all laughed again, the tension only de-escalating further until Happy sighed, shaking his head with a smirk packed with pity, and left them to their own devices.

Nothing really happened at first outside of everyone marveling over how good the food was, and so they all let their guard down.

Happy endured the praises benevolently, prepared for it even as he shouldered it humbly. “My wife and daughters,” he explains. “I was trash before I had a family to look after. Put myself through cooking classes with what time I could spare between helping out with the kids, training for my matches, and pursuing my GED. I was too busy trying to make a quick buck on the streets to do it right the first time.”

“That’s admirable,” Sarah remarks over the symphony of utensils clanking against dishes while everyone eats. “Where did you take classes?”

“Nowhere fancy,” Hammer replies, shrugging his broad shoulders. “We had this neighbor, Ms. Abdou, beautiful Congolese woman that only spoke French. Anyways, she was retired but she’d been trained in Paris by some of the best and worked for some of the best. She heard about how I was trying to better myself and offered to take me on.”

“Your beloved and daughters are certainly very lucky,” Sif comments between bites. The Omega eats as aggressively as her Alpha companions. “I would certainly like to make their acquaintance.”

Happy’s smirk twists into something sad and resigned. “All my girls would’ve loved you, no doubt. But some drunk driving scum made sure that won’t be possible some years back.”

Tony feels the sympathetic ache of pain at that, and by the expressions of the others, he knows he’s not alone.

“I grieve with thee,” Sif remarks solemnly, pressing a fist over her heart in solace.

Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, and Thor echo the gesture and sentiment as well.

Happy toasts them as his mouth trembles with something emotional, his eyes speaking volumes to how touched he is. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely. “They were all I had for a long time. It’s just been me since then and I - thank you.” He glances at Tony pointedly when he says, “It feels nice to have a family again.”

Tony feels heat build behind his own eyes as he toasts his water right back to the Beta with a fervent nod of agreement.

Everyone else at the table follows before they fall into lighter conversational topics.

After a while, Ms. Everhart waves her hands to signal for everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay, I have to ask. You know I have to ask, because I can’t be the only one thinking this, but. Tony?” She continues when she catches his gaze with cheeks rosy from the fancy wine Hammer busted out for the table, “What is your skin regime? I mean, my god, you are glowing, Cookie.”

Tony chokes on his next bite of food at the unexpected question. He stammers out, “Th-thanks, Ms. Everhart -”

“Christine,” she insists.

“Christine,” Tony fumbles to correct under her laser focus. “It’s nothing really. Just a - a - a face mask! Yeah. I have a - there’s this clay face mask I use like clockwork. Glossier. Uh, I’ll text you the name. Very easy to get.”

“Smells like roses,” Steve adds, coming to his aid. “Actually, it’s kind of funny because _now_ when I smell a rose, I automatically think of Tony.” 

“Positive association,” Tony quips with a wink as there’s a ripple of laughter through the table.

“Nay!” Thor bellows goodnaturedly, making some of the cutlery tremble. “But this is not all it is! You and your betrothed have been blessed with the most joyous gift under the bountiful roots of the great world-tree Yggdrasil. As the God of Fertility myself,” he adds with a wink, holding up a glass of wine. “Allow me to toast to your great fortune. When are the little ones expected to arrive? I should like to see them.”

Tony inhales sharply as the entire dining room is flooded with shocked silence. He fumbles for something to say as he meets each and every one of their gazes.

Even Steve seems at a loss of how to recover from the undeniable claim.

“Is it true, little star?” Hammer asks quietly, eyes glistening with a vulnerable hope. “Are you - are you -”

“Pregnant,” Tony finishes for him. He huffs, thinking, _oh what the hell? here goes nothing_ , and confirms, “Yeah. I’m nearly three months so I guess it’s safe to admit to it. I’m due at the beginning of February. Valentine’s Day.”

“Holy shit!” Hammer breathes as he grabs Rhodey by the shoulder with one hand. “James - James, I’m gonna be a _grandpa._ ”

“I know, and I’ve got another kid to spoil,” Rhodey agrees with a soft smile as they both think about it. “You sure know how to make up for lost time, don’t you?”

Tony flushes with warm validation, feeling very seen and loved by all the occupants in the room in a way he’s never experienced before as he fields all of their genuine and excited congratulations. He laughs, standing when Christine quickly rounds the table to squish him into an emotional hug, begging Tony to let her be in charge of his baby shower.

“You’ve gotta introduce yourself to Ms. Storm,” Hammer insists, slipping into the seat beside Tony’s while the others work as a group to clean up the dining area. 

They insisted Tony not lift a finger, to which he rolled his eyes and just gave in to the fact that things were going to run along the same theme for the next couple of months until the baby is born.

“I am,” Tony promises and grins under the look Hammer gives him. “I am!”

“Like tomorrow, little star,” Hammer presses. “What good is having a bodyguard if you don’t utilize them? Not to mention the fact that you’re carrying some precious cargo besides yourself.”

“I’ve been doing just fine before you found out,” Tony dryly points out, stubborn. “And besides, I haven't been on my own. Happy’s practically with me wherever I go, anyway. There’s no better protection than that. Come on, let me have this last month before we go public.”

Hammer chews on that a bit obstinately for a moment and scoffs when Tony has the audacity to give him puppy dog eyes. “Aw, geez. Cruel and unusual punishment, Annie,” he complains as Tony laughs. “Fine. But! Only if you agree to meet up with our PR team with me tomorrow so we can go over some battle plans on how we’re gonna reintroduce you to society.”

Tony pretends to mull it over before he says, “Deal.”

Hammer nods, satisfied. Then he turns to address the rest of the room, clapping his hands together once while he stands to ask, “Now, who wants dessert? I’m thinking we should end this night with a good movie.”

.

.

.

 **sunflowersandstickers:** sooooo   
**sunflowersandstickers:** nvm false alarm   
**sunflowersandstickers:** forget all that stuff i said about there being multiple Peter Parkers   
**sunflowersandstickers:** i was tweakin lol nvm

 **youknowwhoiam:** you sure?

 **sunflowersandstickers:** yeah nvm don’t worry about it

 **youknowwhoiam:** okay then……

.

.

.

Hammer is all too happy to introduce everyone to _The Prince of Eygpt_ and takes a moment to describe what it was like attending the premiere of the movie, the people he met, how that triggered the lifelong friendship he has with Jeff Goldblum, who apparently is Tony’s _godfather_.

“You'll be introduced to each other soon enough, Annie,” Hammer absentmindedly comments quietly as he passes down one of the bowls of popcorn making laps amongst them. “He keeps saying how the pictures aren’t enough.”

“Pictures?” Tony exclaims and gets a few shushes for his trouble. Quieter, he asks, “What pictures?”

“You’d know if you had any social media and followed my private accounts,” Hammer merely says. “Now pay attention. The duet about the Plagues is a must-see.”

Tony scoffs with grudging amusement but turns his gaze forward as he presses closer into Steve’s side from where they’re both boxed in by Hammer and Sarah.

DUM-E is holed up in the corner with Pongo and Lady, who are sleeping curled up around him as the bot goes back and forth petting them like the softie he is.

Thor and his companions are quite enthralled by, what they call, Midgardian Culture, and they have plenty of questions to go along with this interest.

Happy and Christine do most of the heavy lifting with answering those questions.

It’s nearing the end of the movie when Happy’s earlier warning finally hits. 

Tony feels his blood sing underneath in his skin and suddenly he has to be alone with Steve like _right now_. This is why he’s quick to give their excuses (though the others aren’t that better off) and he makes his escape with his Alpha. He practically jumps Steve once the elevator doors close and their makeout session immediately springs to something hot and heavy. 

The elevator even blares with a warning ring when they fail to exit it within the next ten minutes.

“Race you!” Tony laughs, sprinting up to their bedroom with Steve hot on his heels. 

Clothes go flying a moment later before they go rolling around in their cushy soft sheets, hands roaming everywhere.

It’s a while before they can get it out of their systems completely.

If Tony hadn’t already been pregnant, he certainly would have been after that night.

.

.

.

**MONDAY**

Tony hisses quietly, squirming as Dr. Cho spreads that weird, cold goop across his lower stomach while she warms up the ultrasound machine. He wiggles his toes nervously, anxiously, as he watches her blue latex-gloved hands work quickly and efficiently between pressing the wand down firmly over his lower stomach and adjusting the dials on the ultrasound machine.

“You okay?” Steve asks quietly, squeezing their interlaced fingers together comfortingly as he keeps his gaze pinned on the screen of the ultrasound machine, searching the imaging as restlessly as Tony is.

“M’fine,” Tony mumbles as he waits for Dr. Cho to say something.

It’s a long, agonizing ten minutes before Dr. Cho says, “I wanted to be absolutely sure before I said anything, but - it’s looking like twins.”

Tony and Steve both balk at that.

“Yup,” Dr. Cho continues as she swivels the wand and presses down while she points to the imaging. “You see these two right here? That’s one … and two,” she indicates, hand dropping down to move quickly over the keyboard so she can capture it.

“Twins,” Tony echoes, laughing incredulous. “No. No way. My luck isn’t that good.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, but apparently it is,” Dr. Cho reaffirms, wand swiveling again over his lower stomach. “Not really surprising from a medical standpoint. You’re genetically more inclined for the highest success rate when it comes to fertility and reproduction according to your blood and spit tests. My best guess is that you’ve inherited it from your Omega parent.”

Tony wrinkles his nose when he thinks about sharing any traits with Maria. It’s always sat wrong with him, something about their connection never felt right - off somehow. In the end, he just shrugs and continues to watch the monitor, pushing all thoughts of his physically and emotionally distant mother out of his mind. 

“Well,” Dr. Cho continues as she watches the imaging closely. “It’s looking like they’ll be fraternal. They don’t appear to be sharing the same amniotic sac.”

“Is that something to be concerned about?” Steve asks.

“Not at all. It just means they won’t be identical most likely,” Dr. Cho explains as she uses her free hand to adjust a few more dials. “Would you like to hear their heartbeats?”

Tony and Steve quickly say, “Yes.” before shooting each other fondly amused looks.

“Okay,” Dr. Cho says, making a few more adjustments.

Tony squeezes Steve's fingers as his heart speeds up in anticipation. He exhales quietly and waits. 

Dr. Cho smiles knowingly as she swivels the wand against his lower stomach and says, “And here we go. On three. One - two - three.”

Suddenly, two thudding heartbeats, like the trotting hooves of a group of horses, fill the vast space of the room. 

Tony's breath hitches and tears begin to build up in the corner of his eyes. He exhales shakily and quickly covers his face with his hands.

Steve rubs at his shoulder, saying, “Oh sweetheart, it’s okay.”

Tony quietly hiccups as he continues to hide behind his hands, reveling in the soothing sound of his babies' heartbeats. Twins. He’s going to have two daughters - two Jellybeans. He shudders through a bitten off sob. 

Dr. Cho says, “This is a completely normal reaction, Tony. It’s a powerful thing to hear your baby's heart for the first time. It'll get to you.” 

Tony nods silently behind his hands as more tears escape. He shudders again when he feels Steve rub his shoulder consolingly. When he peeks out from between his fingers at his Alpha, he sees the utter wonder written in proud lines around his comely face as he takes it all in.

“How far along is he?” Steve asks as he glances up at the monitors where the vitals of both of the babies can be seen alongside Tony's. 

“Just about nine weeks, I'd say,” Dr. Cho answers.

Tony thinks she's only confirming Steve’s suspicions because his Alpha doesn't seem particularly surprised about it, which means the sap has been personally keeping count.

“Would you like to see the 4D version?” 

Tony swallows down an emotional lump and drops his hands as he nods, as does Steve. 

Dr. Cho punches in a few commands to the machine while she swivels the wand against Tony’s lower stomach before a virtual ultrasound of both fetuses comes to life right across the screen. 

It rotates back and forth slowly, like clockwork, showing every fascinating detail. 

Tony is so enthralled that he might fucking cry again. He traces his eyes tentatively over the imaging, drinking in the virtual display as it zooms in on both fetuses. 

His eyes jump in no particular order as Dr. Cho points out the umbilical cord, the placenta, the arm and leg buds, and all the other developing tissue which looks to be no bigger than an inch long, about the size of a medium green olive. 

“Beautiful, right?” Dr. Cho says with a smile as both Tony and Steve nod in awe. The fingers of her free hand fly over the keyboard as she takes more pictures before she forwards it to the nurse’s station for printing and powers it all down. She hands some tissues to Tony so he can clean himself up as she rolls the stool she’s sitting on over to her computer to type up some notes for a few minutes of silence. Then she asks, “And how are you, Tony? Any nausea? Nipple tenderness? Heartburn? Constipation?”

“No, nothing like that,” Tony replies as Steve helps him put his shirt back on. “I have been going to the bathroom a lot, though. And I’m fine to wake up early and have enough energy for the rest of the day, but then it’s like when I am moving about, I run out of steam quickly.”

Dr. Cho types up his responses as she nods absentmindedly. “All very normal when you’re carrying twins,” she assures. “So lets up your fiber and liquid intake just to be safe. Eight full glasses of fluids - water, vegetable or fruit juice, broth - each day to make sure any solids you’re eating is moving through your digestive tract the way it’s supposed to and help with the energy lag. I’ll add that to your homecare packet and forward you both the updated version. And let’s get you back here at twelve weeks for another ultrasound since we’re expecting two bundles of joy. We need to monitor you more frequently. We can do Monday, same time again. Sound good?”

Tony and Steve glance wordlessly at each other before they nod at Dr. Cho.

.

.

.

That afternoon, some hours after his doctor’s appointment, Tony finds himself holed up in the stunning basement office of Elektra Natchios’s sprawling mansion in Los Angeles, playing Cards Against Humanity with _the_ Jeff Goldblum, along with Hammer and Steve.

When Hammer had warned his PR team would burn through at least 16 hours of his life, he imagined something far more uncomfortable and complex than this. 

Elektra, the head of Legal/PR, is a slick-talking Alpha with crude and morbid humor and Tony absolutely _loves_ her. She’s lured him in with her charms, much in the way the Serpent in the Garden of Eden must have done with Eve. She gets him to open up about even his most intimate memories without hesitation or audible tremble in the delivery.

Tony barely notices as her chief Omega assistant, Foggy Nelson, took detailed notes of everything he said. He’s too busy laughing through round after round of Cards Against Humanity while Jeff Goldblum plies them with finger foods he makes himself - like it’s _wild_ that this incredibly nice and eccentric Alpha man is his godfather.

Then again, maybe not because Tony’s starting to realize, while he watches Jeff and Hammer interact, that they are actually similar in a lot of ways but just in different styles. He, at one point, asks Steve if he notices anything and his Alpha only confirms his thoughts on the matter.

Anyway, before Tony knows it, sixteen hours have come and gone within a blink of an eye and he’s amazed to realize that Elektra knows practically every single thing about Steve and him. 

Hammer and Jeff have wandered off to bed in one of Elektra’s many guest rooms, as well as Nelson, some hours prior. This leaves Steve and Tony alone with Elektra when she makes a request for it.

“Do you know what they call me on the internet?” Elektra remarks with a smirk when she notices Tony and Steve’s astonishment at the way she can easily quote facts back about them _verbatim_. She continues, when they shake their heads, “They call me the Godfather of Social Media. I’m good at what I do. I only represent people I like, people who are _good,_ right at the very core of themselves. And after getting to know you both these last sixteen hours, I can honestly say that you two more than qualify for those categories. In fact, you, Tony, are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met and I think it’s incredible that you managed to overcome everything that you have, in the _ways_ that you have.”

Steve thanks her for her kind words but Tony is taken aback by the acknowledgment. It's a minute before he remembers to say, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Elektra says. “Now, tell me what you would like your social media handles to be and then I will go over my Ten Social Media Commandments with you. As long as you can follow them, you’ll remain covered in all situations.”

Tony and Steve nod agreeably, so on it goes, with the aid of Elektra, they create their social media accounts. 

Thankfully, this only takes about two hours to knock out and is queued for public release the day after Tony’s adoption goes public.

That’ll be in September, just a week before October hits. According to Elektra, Fall is always the perfect time to debut public figures, as that opens up many opportunities for big-name giants to eagerly try their hands at endorsing and backing Tony. She’s determined, by this point, to make Tony her greatest success story.

“When I’m done with you, little star,” Elektra begins with a devious smirk. “You won’t be able to sneeze without breaking the internet, and the whole world is going to know your name and speak its praises. You’ll be known as the Darling of America, the Da Vinci of Our Time.”

Tony flushes and tries to stammer out a modest protest but the Alpha woman is not having it.

“Tony, you’re going to change the world, with or without my help,” Elektra remarks knowingly. “I’ve read your dissertation, I know that as fact.”

“Who _hasn’t_ read my dissertation at this point?” Tony exclaims cynically. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but. People are as good as their opportunities. I don’t want to take advantage of this fresh start by turning myself into an idol people can put on a pedestal. I don’t think I deserve that. I used to help Howard and Obadiah make weapons that killed innocent people. All I do is think about the lives I've destroyed.”

“I don’t want you to be an idol or some kind of false god,” Elektra clarifies earnestly, spotting his concerns almost immediately. “I want to make you into a beacon of hope, an example for those who have endured the same or worse to know that there is still magic in this world. Magic that can turn your darkest night into your brightest dawn. And I know for a fact that fame and notoriety won’t make you rotten. Do you know why?”

Tony shakes his head wordlessly as Steve continues to look between them both with silent interest.

“A truly good person is not afraid to think from their heart and stand for truth. By following their heart, they stand with their conscience, and conviction,” Elektra responds. “The speed of modern life and old-fashioned beliefs is an oppressive thing. Qualities such as ‘nice, honest, kind, happy, relaxed, sincere, innocent’ are frowned upon as weaknesses. Yet these values are the essence of what makes a good person. You are that, Tony. And then some.”

Tony is knocked into silence, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment.

Elektra’s eyes are glimmering with dark mirth. “I hope you truly hold no love in your heart for the Starks because I’m about to help you demolish their image.”

Tony looks at her, blinking. He exhales steadily. “You - you really think you can manage that?” he asks, cautiously optimistic. 

“ _You don't get what you want by day. You take it by force at night_ ,” Elektra remarks in Spanish. “ _They hurt you in such unforgivable ways, little star. So we will drag their names through swamps. We will make them **pay** for it_.”

Tony doesn’t mean to cry. He really doesn’t. But it ends up happening anyway, because never during the nights crying himself to sleep when he was growing up could he have ever imagined that one day he’d have all this. That he’d be given the chance of true love and happiness. That’s he’d be given the chance to _fight back_.

But most importantly - he’s been gifted with the revelation that he doesn’t have to do any of this alone anymore. He’s got a safety net of love and support from a vast number of family and friends. All of them ready to fight _with_ him. 

It’s like shackles have been lifted and he feels the lightest he’s ever been.

.

.

.

_You and Steve Rogers have added over 25+ people to the group chat ‘Jellybeans 2020 - Family and Friends’ and shared a series of photos._

**youknowwhoiam:** anyone know how to digest two babies? 

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** asking for a friend ;)

 **auntie-b:** bravo antonio !!! ti amo tanto !!!   
**auntie-b:** you’re going to make the most wonderful oma!   
**auntie-b:** oh just think of all the clothes i can make for them !!!

 **edwinjarvis:** Absolutely stunning. You two are going to make such amazing parents. If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to text me.

 **youknowwhoiam:** from the bottom of my heart   
**youknowwhoiam:** thank you auntie bella and jarvis :)

_brooklynfisticuffs emphasized youknowwhoiam’s ‘thank you auntie bella and jarvis :)’ message_

**winniebarnes:** So many happy and wonder-filled times ahead for you…congratulations!

 **downtoskirth:** omgggggggggggggggggggg   
**downtoskirth:** congrats you two !!!!   
**downtoskirth:** i am screaming omg

_dr.edward-spaghedward and 23 other people have laughed at youknowwhoiam’s ‘anyone know how to digest two babies?’ message_

**dr.edward-spaghedward:** i’m claiming the title of big cousin   
**dr.edward-spaghedward:** these are my cousins now   
**dr.edward-spaghedward:** no take backs

_youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs, downtoskirth, and winter-soulja-boy-tell-em and 16 others have loved dr.edward-spaghedward’s ‘these are my cousins now’ message_

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** this is amazing news, congrats   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** _@Eddie_ i like where your head’s at kid   
**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:** in the spirit of that, i’m picking up the heavyweight belt for ‘Best Uncle’

_youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs, downtoskirth, areyoufalconserious and 24 others liked winter-soulja-boy-tell-em's ‘this is amazing news, congrats’ message_

**areyoufalconserious:** _@Bucky_ oh you wish   
**areyoufalconserious:** that title has already been collected by ME

**winter-soulja-boy-tell-em:  
  
**

_youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs and 25 people laughed at winter-soulja-boy-tell-em’s image_

**rileywilson:** Congratulations, Steve and Tony. Feeling really happy and blessed to be apart of this :)

_youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs and 23 others loved rileywilson’s ‘Congratulations, Steve and Tony. Feeling really happy and blessed to be apart of this :)’_

**killmonger:** i [redacted] knew it!

_youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs, mr-fantastic and 27 others laughed at killmonger’s ‘i [redacted] knew it!’ message_

**mr-fantastic:** This is really happy news. Thanks for sharing. Congrats.

 **youknowwhoiam:** thanks reed :)

 **happiest-hoagies:** congrats - can't think of better parents

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** thank you happy :)

**beccabarnes:  
**

**sunflowersandstickers:** yerrrrrrrrrrr!!! that’s my nieces!!! look at em!!!   
**sunflowersandstickers:** _@Bucky @Sam_ sorry but i was destined to be the world’s greatest uncle lbvs

_areyoufalconserious and winter-soulja-boy-tell-em disliked sunflowersandstickers’s ‘@Bucky @Sam sorry but i was destined to be the world’s greatest uncle lbvs’ message_

**sunflowersandstickers:** lmao y’all some haters  
 **sunflowersandstickers:**  


 **sarahrogers:** Oh goodness, look at the wee darlings! Nana’s precious little ones xoxo

_hammer-time69, youknowwhoiam, brooklynfisticuffs, and 30 others loved sarahrogers ‘Oh goodness, look at the wee darlings! Nana’s precious little ones xoxo’ message_

**brown-not-berkeley:** the wheels are turning double time for your baby shower

 **sarahrogers:** _@Christine_ I’d liked to be looped in on that as well please!

 **agent-carter:** _@Christine_ _@Sarah_ I second that!

 **brown-not-berkeley:** _@Sarah_ _@Peggy_ you’ve got it ladies ;)

**youknowwhoiam:  
  
**

_agent-carter, sarahrogers, brooklynfisticuffs and 30 others laughed at youknowwhoiam’s image_

**agent-13:** congrats :)   
 **agent-13:** my offer to babysit is still on the table uncle tony and uncle steve

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** aww thanks chipmunk :)

 **youknowwhoiam:** we might just hold you to that during date night ;)

_dr.edward-spaghedward liked agent-13’s ‘my offer to babysit is still on the table uncle tony and uncle steve’ message_

**ivan-the-terrible:** Ва́ше здоро́вье!   
**ivan-the-terrible:** Наилу́чшие пожела́ния!

 **youknowwhoiam:** Спаси́бо, Vanko!

 **hammer-time69:** posting this to my private social media channels with the caption ‘Hammer Grandkid Army incoming 2020’

 **youknowwhoiam:** !!!   
**youknowwhoiam:** absolutely not, that’s so cheesy

 **hammer-time69:** whoops, my finger slipped   
**hammer-time69:  
  
**

**youknowwhoiam:  
  
**

_hammer-time69, ivan-the-terrible, sarahrogers and 30 others laughed at youknowwhoiam’s image_

**war-machine:** You two deserve every bit of happiness these sweet babies are going to bring you.

 **youknowwhoiam:** thanks uncle rhodey :)

 **brooklynfisticuffs:** _@Rhodes_ thank you :) 

 **war-machine:** :)

_brown-not-berkeley, hammer-time69, ivan-the-terrible, and 30 others loved war-machine’s ‘You two deserve every bit of happiness these sweet babies are going to bring you’ message_

**Author's Note:**

> “A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” — Franz Kafka.
> 
> http://whatshouldntbe.tumblr.com — Please don't be shy. Let me know what you think. :) #translivesmatter / #blacklivesmatter


End file.
